


keeper of my keys

by orphan_account



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Substance Abuse, Tags May Change, Unreliable Narrator, a bodyguard au, i already kind of regret this, retired hot ex spy! harry, singer! eggsy, some semblance of a plot, they start out rough but they get together i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-05-29 10:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 72,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15071477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The man stands, his face wiped of any emotion whatsoever- until his eyes land on Eggsy and his lips twitch into a barely there smile. Eggsy, infuriatingly, feels his whole face set aflame like a goddamn bonfire.“This,” Merlin announces, “is Harry Hart, and he’ll be Eggsy’s bodyguard, indefinitively, from now on.”There’s a random beat of silence- and then chaos erupts, in the form of both Roxy and Eggsy shouting.*or, that bodyguard au that literally no one asked for





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> GOD I regret this so much but I wrote it and now all readers Shall Suffer. I apologize for the wrongful representation of production companies and record labels and singers- I am a mere struggling student I have no clue how these things work, this is just a work of fiction. Let me just state outright that I have no clue about the whole bodyguard business either- that's all me just pulling it all out of my arse so for the sake of my dignity pls don't nitpick trust me you'll probably regret it
> 
> warning for mention of prostitution and drug usage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD I regret this so much but I wrote it and now all readers Shall Suffer. I apologize for the wrongful representation of production companies and record labels and singers- I am a mere struggling student I have no clue how these things work, this is just a work of fiction. Let me just state outright that I have no clue about the whole bodyguard business either- that's all me just pulling it all out of my arse so for the sake of my dignity pls don't nitpick trust me you'll probably regret it
> 
> warning for mention of prostitution and drug usage

16 February 2014, 8:00 pm

TMZ had once run an all too titillating issue about how Gary “Eggsy” Unwin may be A Charming Act in the Streets, But Is Actually A Class Act in the Sheets- a misleading headline pointing to how his less than ideal background of being a rentboy and a runner for a drug lord clearly shaped him to be an asshole diva wannabe in a place where he didn’t belong. Uncouth and ungracious in social events, ungrateful and unbecoming of his quickly burgeoning status in the singing and songwriting industry- the entire article was the kind of lovely that gave Eggsy a throbbing headache. Never mind that it was so laughably far from the truth that it may as well be on another planet- Eggsy isn’t so much aggressively uncouth as he is completely awkward with better, much more famous people smiling down at him like they’re granting him a favour by being in his contagious presence- Eggsy’s personal assistant as well as a deity in her own right Roxanne Morton from the record label, Kingsman, had immediately somehow pulled a few magical strings to get the article rescinded and the author disgraced but not before it had already been blown up and put on twitter for people of all ages to laugh at. By all rights, Eggsy thinks, if anyone should be labelled a Class Act, it ought to be Charlie Hesketh, a constant thorn in Eggsy’s arse.

Such as now.

“Why are you here? By now you should know everything that comes out of your mouth is full of shit,” Charlie hisses, as Eggsy heads to the table. It’s the Grammy’s pre-party, and there are actual fucking canapés on this posh as fuck three tiered silver tray. Roxy had begged Eggsy to at least try to mingle but fucking canapés- it’s like a spiritual calling. 

The party is teeming with people conversing in excited tones and no one else approaches them, so Eggsy is stuck with the fucking canapés and fucking Charlie. Charlie’s not an option so Eggsy goes for the canapés, reaching out one and biting out of it. 

Charlie continues, blithely, like an absolute idiot who thinks his opinion is the weight of gold. “Come right out of the fucking piss poor trenches and acting like anything you do is worth fuck all-”

“Do shut up, Charlie,” Eggsy says blithely. He takes another bite out of the canapé, and sees, out of the corner of his eye, a shadow moving on the far curtain. He blinks, and then decides that maybe it’s nothing. Dean had sharpened his paranoia to such a sharp, fine point that the first time Merlin, Roxy’s boss, had sneaked up on him he had promptly let his fist dive into the side of his face. Needless to say, that conversation hadn’t ended well- Eggsy knows the man holds a grudge against him for that even to this day.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” Charlie snarls, spittle flying rather unattractively. “Leave, you and your chav self are not welcome here.”

From the far end of the room he sees one of the other singers in the company, James Spencer, also Roxy’s uncle, wave him over and he sets down the half-eaten canape. No one can be expected to eat when faced with Charlie’s particular visage. “As much as dishin’ with you ‘as bin fun,” he drawls, sharpening his East Londoner accent just to see Charlie purple like the posh twat he is, “I’m afraid someone else ‘as demanded me attention- but hey, you should try these. They taste great.”

Charlie opens his mouth, furious as all hell, but before he can say anything like insult Eggsy’s entire family tree, the punch bowl next to Eggsy promptly explodes and throws the entire room into chaos.

*

Eggsy actually doesn’t start out singing the way he expects everyone else did- posting videos on YouTube, or winning singing competitions, or singing at bars until someone notices. 

The day Roxy notices what she labels as “raw talent you are just born with” is the day he’s at the Black Prince, cheek green with a bruise delivered by the fist of one Dean Baker, ribs smarting under his shirt. The bartender, Anthony, lets him in at any times regardless because he knows what an absolute shithole Dean can be so Eggsy’s just sat in the corner by himself, pint of lager in front of him as he scrawls morbid, depressing lyrics onto a napkin, humming a random tune underneath his breath all the while. A few seconds later, a woman about his age or so with sleek, blond hair drawn into a sharp, tight ponytail, slides into the seat opposite him. “I heard you humming,” she says. “And saw your lyrics. And read all of them.”

Eggsy blinks. “Pardon,” he says, “but that’s rude, ain’t it- to read whatever shit I write without my permission-”

“It’s not shit,” the woman says, leaning forward, eyes narrow with determination. “It’s really, really fucking good.” She’s beautiful- full lips, high cheekbones, clear slate grey eyes but at her words Eggsy is shocked into silence, staring at her. In the Baker-Unwin household, praise is hard to come by and all that can be heard are insults so now, this unknown woman’s compliment leaves Eggsy feeling like the breath has been punched out of him. “Can you sing?”

“I- yeah, I suppose.” He hasn’t sung in ages, but he hasn’t had a conversation like this in ages, either- it makes him feel like he’s in the twilight zone, not registering anything coming out of his mouth. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Roxanne Morton, I work with Kingsman Records,” she says, a smile on her face. She’s probably trying for the friendlier route but it makes her look even more deadly now. “Would you like to become a singer?”

What the fuck. “What the fuck,” Eggsy says out loud, and then jabs a finger at his own face, wondering if Roxanne is off her nut. “You see this? I don’t fit the type of an artiste- I’ll bring nothing but trouble to your company mate, no offense.” You’ll bring nothing but trouble to this household, his mother’s voice, high on serotonin, reverberates through his head. 

“I don’t care about that. I care about talent-which you have heaps of,” she says, left eyebrow arched elegantly.

“I have a job, already,” he says weakly, as a last ditch effort. “As a- cashier. In Walmart.”

This time, both eyebrows arch. 

“Fine,” he says, heavily. He suspects Roxanne is probably the kind of person who gets her way every single time- ambitious. It’s in the slant of her eyes and her posture, straight and confident. If he was still in secondary he would be head over heels for her. “Lead the way, Miss Morton.”  


“Call me Roxy,” she says, grinning triumphantly, holding out her hand for him to shake and thus signalling the start of a beautiful friendship. He learns that beneath the confidence and the overwhelmingly determined personality is a girl with ambition and her own self esteem issues, struggling to become better recognised in a company that seems to prioritise straight, white men over herself. He learns that that first day she’d seen his lyrics denoting of rejection and yearning to be something better she had seen some of herself in those words, achingly scripted onto a half soiled napkin. He learns that above all, she’s amazingly brilliant, and in him had not only seen the talent but the potential for representation- a success story born out of the ashes for the press and tabloids to eat up like cake.

She also, unsurprisingly, has balls of steels. Roxy’s stunt of bringing Eggsy in lands her in slight trouble, at first- because no one would believe the chav with a green bruised cheek and a neon yellow sports jacket, dirty white snapback on his hair even though the trend went out of fashion last year, could create and belt out lyrics in a snap of his fingers. Roxy’s arguing with a bald man in the middle of the lobby while interested onlookers stand and watch the scene hungrily so Eggsy, bored, goes over to a classy piano at the side of the room, sits down and starts to play a tune. After a while, he realises the whole room has gone quiet- all the hungry onlookers have switched their gazes to him, and the bald man is staring at him, mouth slightly agape. He’s about to stand up and flee, trying to keep his dignity intact when the man abruptly slaps his phone down, the lyrics to an Elton John song- Your Song, he realises- on the screen.

“Sing this,” he says. “Please.”

His voice convinces the man, who tells him he’s about to be the biggest star Kingsman Records has ever seen, before introducing himself as Merlin- “My real name is much too hideous,” he says, sniffing slightly. As Eggsy follows him and Roxy up to get the contract down, he thinks he hears Roxy hiss to Merlin, “I told you his voice was magical!”

Of course, that’s not actually the end of the doubters. Kingsman Records is well established and famous, but it’s also old, bred on old money and aristocratic names- the rumour floats around that the Queen helped to start it up in the first place back in 1919 when people were in sore need of a pick-me-up. Many inside the company expect to see a certain type of style- jazz, classy suits, polite and calm in the face of press, impressive background of in the very least a masters’ degree with finely honed talent of a certain, posh slant. In comes Eggsy, with his sport jackets and his snap backs and his mish mash of alternative rock and pop and at times, old school 80’s and while his first album breaks records and rakes in the millions for Kingsman, he gains respect but never appreciation. He only really manages to make friends out of Roxy, her uncle James and Merlin- the other singers are too uptight, arrogant and distrustful of the way he managed to convince Merlin to sign him on instantly when they had to go through “rounds of tough, groundbreaking audition” while the other producers are disdainful of his background, even more so of his music- never mind that it has managed to gain a following. Charlie leads the resistance, his sneering insults and remarks grating at Eggsy’s nerves until Roxy’s holding him back from punching the ever loving shite out of him. The CEO of Kingsman Records, Chester King, only really keeps him on because of his net worth, now, and absolutely nothing else- he doesn’t make a secret of his hatred of what Eggsy and his music symbolises.  


Eggsy loves singing. He loves singing, and he loves expressing himself in words and then grabbing the mike and belting it out, tossing his hate and anger and love and resentment and regret and yearning into the air in front of him, watching it vibrate with the power of his pent up dreams and nightmares. He loves making a name of himself in the industry, creating a footnote in the shape of his calibre and watching his fame and reputation climb up to the likes of what only legends can achieve, watching his hard work win awards that he only ever dreamed of winning. He loves all of it, and therefore he knows that in Kingsman Records, in enemy territory, everyone is watching and waiting for him to slip up and say one wrong word, or make one wrong footstep, to make his hard earned reputation and fame to come crashing back down and send him packing back to the estates. After two years he’s still an unknown variable, still a menace, still a thorn in their sides and they’re all in the sidelines gripping at the rails of their seats, eagerly counting down til the chav fucks it all up. So he stays on the down low. He rarely goes to public events, he stays home and takes care of Daisy and his Ma who now live in the same apartment on Hampstead Row with him, he doesn’t touch alcohol or drugs or vices and makes sure he’s squeaky clean, so squeaky clean that he starts to worry Jamal and Ryan about how utterly serious he has become.

And when he starts receiving death threats delivered straight to his email and his studio in the Kingsman Records building, he presses his lips together, clenches his jawline and deletes all the emails, throwing all the letters in the trash. He’s not about to ruin one more good thing for himself.

*

17 February 2014, 1:00 am

“What the fuck,” Roxy spits, as she runs straight to Eggsy, in high heels no less. Eggsy’s seated at the ambulance as a paramedic wraps his arm tightly, which had been cut by shards flying from the punch bowl. “What the fuck, I was so worried! Are you okay? Are you fine? Did you receive any medication yet? Why is your arm getting bandaged? Why do you look so pale? Why does he look so pale, did you even do your damn job?” She directs her last question at the paramedic who’s starting to look extremely harassed.  


“Jesus, Roxy, stop biting her head off and calm down,” Eggsy retorts. He’s pretty calm, himself, because he’s already had his moment to panic- when the punch bowl had exploded, he had promptly grabbed Charlie who had started screaming like a little girl, and ducked down. Instantly, a second bullet had zinged off the canapé tray, exactly where Eggsy’s head had been. Heart hammering, Eggsy had shoved at Charlie, and yelled, “Move!” The two of them had crouched low and made their way to the exit as a third bullet ripped through the fabric of the table- again, where Eggsy’s chest had just been. Amidst the screaming and the chaos, Eggsy had lost Charlie and somehow made it out, where Iggy Azalea had taken one look at his bleeding arm cut from the shards flying from the exploding punch bowl, and fainted. This had prompted paramedics to whisk both Azalea and Eggsy away, as well as further screaming and camera flashes from the press who had gotten wind of what had gone down. 

It had certainly been an eventful end to what Eggsy had pegged as yet another boring social event. 

“Don’t expect me to calm down!” Roxy hisses. Her hair is perfectly done up and she’s in a resplendent three piece suit, pants tailored perfectly to her legs in a manner that makes her look alluring yet deadly. “I had been having a nice date with that bird I met at the downtown pub when Merlin calls me in a panic and tells me to check the news!” She blows a breath out, looking stressed to all hell. It makes Eggsy feels guilty, all of a sudden, when he in fact knows that none of this is his fault, so he catches hold of Roxy’s wrist and drags her in. “Sorry,” he says, letting her go when she’s about half a step closer. “I really am. To be honest, it’s not the first time I’ve been attacked so it didn’t really dawn on me that-”

“That I would give a shit?” Roxy snaps, her eyes alight with anger. “Newsflash, Eggsy, I do- I’m your personal fucking assistant.”

“Right,” Eggsy says. “And I had time to pick up my phone and give you a call while a maniac shot at me with a gun.”

Roxy has the grace to look abashed at that, and some of the anger abates from her face. She sighs as the paramedic finishes wrapping up his arm and tells him to stay off it and keep the wrapping clean, redressing it every six hours or so. Once she leaves, saying that she needed to see if her assistance was needed elsewhere, Roxy seats herself beside Eggsy and quietly wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer until he hunches over and lays his head on her shoulder.  


Roxy comes over, then. Her face looks unreadable and impassive, and Percival- James’ husband- is behind her, looking equally grave. It makes Eggsy feel tense as well, his muscles locking up tight. “Come, Eggsy,” she says. “Head on home.”

Eggsy blinks. “Thought I had to give my statement?”

“They won’t be collecting everyone’s statements today,” Percival says. “They agreed- reluctantly, since you were closest to the shooter- to collect yours tomorrow.” 

Eggsy follows Roxy into the car, where she asks the chauffeur to head down to Eggsy’s town home. It’s a nice sprawling complex and it’s empty today, because his Mother and Daisy are out visiting their cousins in Scotland. Eggsy, admittedly, hadn’t tried very hard to make it for the visit- lately, all his relatives wanted out of him was Beyoncé’s number, which for some unfathomable reason they assumed would be with him like he constantly bumped elbows with music’s best and brightest. So he’s ready to head in alone, but he’s shocked to see Roxy follow him in as well. 

Upon seeing his shock, Roxy sighs. “You scared the fuck out of me, I’m not letting you out of my sight,” she says, and while normally he would protest he is still feeling a bit shaky so he lets it slide. Instead, he and Roxy get ready for bed and Roxy takes his mother’s bedroom while he fairly throws himself on top of his own one and instantly knocks out. 

17 February 2014, 8:00 am

Eggsy doesn’t wake up on his own volition and instead wakes up to the sounds of Roxy cluttering around in his kitchen, probably trying- and what sounds like in vain- to throw together a halfway respectable breakfast for two twenty somethings to survive on for at least half the day. He’s twisted up in blankets because of a nightmare he can’t remember, parts of the sheet sticking to his skin due to sweat. For a moment he just stays in the sodding wet bedsheets, staring up at the ceiling. The day he had moved in he had lifted Daisy up to the ceiling, standing on the bed, and both of them had pasted glow in the dark stickers together in the shape of princesses, fairies and knights. The whole time, Michelle had looked on from the doorway, quiet and solemn. Eggsy and his mother’s relationship had never been the best- there’s a part of Michelle that blames Eggsy for her incurable love for Lee and there’s a part of Eggsy that blames Michelle for the bruises on his skin dealt under Dean’s heavy hand. Moments between them are strained and awkward, filled with curt responses and short replies but his mother, Eggsy believes, is trying her best; ever since they had moved in, away from the estates, she has cooked Eggsy’s favourite- pancakes and maple syrup- without fail. His mother’s always trying to bridge the vast gap between them, wide as an ocean, and if she’d heard that he had been shot at, at last night’s gala, she would go pretty much ballistic. Right now they’re at Eggsy’s grandmother’s place and on hindsight, it had been a bloody fortunate decision.  


After about a minute or so, Eggsy finally decided to start untangling himself from the bedsheets, hoisting himself up and rubbing his eyes exhaustedly. The ache of simple, pure exhaustion is stuck like sand beneath his eyelids but he can’t fall asleep, not now when last night’s events are running through his mind like the scenes of a particularly vivid action flick. Take one- the punch bowl exploding. Take two- the bullets ripping into the tablecloth, stone floor unforgivingly hard on his knees. Take three- the mad dash for the door, screams resounding in his ears and a throb in his right arm. 

It’s when he swings his legs over the bed and onto the floor that he notices it- his laptop left open, the screen black. It’s turned off, hence no blinking lights, yet Eggsy knows that he had left the laptop closed when he’d left for the gala and he hadn’t touched it since. He stands up slowly, the exhaustion fading away in place of alarm, and eyes the laptop like a ticking time bomb. 

The house had been locked. Eggsy’s pretty fucking paranoid about his safety and that of his family ever since Dean- if it had been broken in, he would have known. Ergo, no one could have conceivably broken into his room and used his laptop for whatever nefarious purposes they could possibly have had. No one, that is, except for-

Eggsy’s eyes flick over to the door. And then he gathers the laptop under his armpit, ignores the fact that he’s still in last night’s navy blue trousers and an untucked, grimy oxford white shirt half unbuttoned, and stomps down the steps- probably making a right racket along the way.

In the kitchen, Roxy has already changed- she’d probably gotten someone to bring her a change of clothes because now she’s in a pencil skirt, a prim pink button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, feet clad in a pair of fuzzy, dirty white slippers that clearly belong to Eggsy’s mum. Normally, Eggsy would make some comment about how Roxy can’t possibly be alive at this time of the day but right now, all he feels is a weird mixture of betrayal and hurt and anger that makes his stomach churn. 

“You’re up,” Roxy says, looking over at him as she flips over the bacon. “Change out of those clothes- Merlin’s coming over in twenty with someone he wants you to meet.”  


“I don’t care,” Eggsy says bluntly, ignoring Roxy’s raised eyebrow. “What the fuck, Roxy, I thought boundaries were a thing between us but apparently not! Why the fuck-“ he slams the laptop on the dinner table, “did you hack into my laptop?”

“I tried,” Roxy says, and then shrugs, unrepentant. “Wasn’t very successful.” She turns around, and slides the bacon into two plates, before putting them on the breakfast table. The toaster pings, and she goes to pull two slices of bread out, placing them on the plates as well.

Her nonchalance makes Eggsy even more furious. “I ask again,” Eggsy says, fuming, “and this time I’m not fucking about. What the fucking fuck possessed you to hack into my goddamn laptop?”

Roxy’s back is to him, and it’s tensed- all the muscles bunched like she’s trying desperately not to scream or cry. And then she suddenly whirls around and her eyes are so furious, glinting with seething anger, that Eggsy actually flinches and takes a step back. “Because, Gary,” she snaps, and Eggsy notes in a distant part of his mind that she must be really narked off at him if she’s using his actual name, “you didn’t tell me that you have been getting fucking anonymous death threats for at least a fucking month!” She digs deep into the pocket of her shorts and then withdraws a hand- within, are the threats scrawled on a piece of paper that just last morning, Eggsy had gathered and chucked into a separate corner of the studio in Kingsman. 

“How did you get those?” Eggsy asks, nodding at the papers that Roxy stuffs back into her jean shorts. He doesn’t need to see them, anyway- he knows what each of the letters say. "You’ll meet your end in a river of blood", "I will dig out your heart myself", "your days are numbered, whore", are just a charming few.

“Merlin,” Roxy says, folding her arms and glowering at Eggsy so harshly that Eggsy’s slightly surprised parts of his skin don’t flake off at the heat of her glare, “was working late last night. He noticed the mike in your studio was knocked ajar when he was leaving, when you went to rush off in a hurry because you were running late for the gala, so he went to set it to rights, and then saw the drawer of the cupboard standing open so he went to close it and saw the threats addressed to you. He went to check security footage and you were caught on video stuffing all the letters in it like a fucking idiot.”  


“Oh for the love of god,” Eggsy mutters, hacked off in the face of Roxy’s anger. What does she have to be angry about, anyway? It’s not like he’d done anything wrong, either- just omitted evidence that wasn’t even that important anyway. “It’s nothing important. It’s just phony threats-”

“That came for a month, are signed off with a mysterious ‘X’, and detail exactly how your murder will be carried out?” Roxy raises an eyebrow at him. “At the best of times your brains leave something to be desired, but even you are not that stupid, Eggsy. You have to know- this is significantly alarming enough to even Merlin, as well. Why didn’t you bring this to our attention earlier?”

Eggsy sits down heavily, his anger forgotten. In the face of this, he doesn’t have much of a moral high ground to stand on. “I thought- still think- it was a hoax,” Eggsy says weakly. “Scare tactics. You know people at Kingsman still hate my guts.”

“And none would ever descend to debase methods such as fucking death threats,” Roxy growls. “Lord, Eggsy, the shooter yesterday only ever fired two live bullets and both were in your exact direction. And coupled with this- it points to one thing.”

Eggsy stands up and heads for the strawberry jam, determined to show his disinterest in the whole thing, but Roxy even more determinedly, does not let the issue go. “It’s not a hoax, Eggsy,” Roxy says, eyebrows furrowed. “Your life is very much in danger.” 

Enough of this nonsense, Eggsy thinks irritably. He’s let this farce gone on long enough- these threats are nothing, and will never be anything. Compared to some of the shit he has stuck through under Dean’s rule, a few threats are mere child’s play, and being forced to reconsider them as otherwise will be an utter waste of Eggsy’s time- time that could be spent on much better things, like recording his next song, for instance. “Stop with this bullshit, Roxy,” he demands, spreading strawberry jam on his toast mulishly. “You’re making a drama out of nothing. It’s a stupid prank. Probably by Charlie- so go bother him instead and leave me in peace.”

Roxy sucks in a breath, looking absolutely enraged. “You’re right, I’m being dramatic over absolutely nothing. And I’ll go and “leave you in peace” if you answer this one question.”  


Eggsy waits, prepared to give a bullshit answer off the top of his head.

“If I’m reacting so much over nothing,” Roxy demands, “then why would this come in your mailbox first thing this morning?” She reaches into her other pocket and draws out a note, giving it to Eggsy with a trembling hand. Eggsy takes it, heart thudding, and what’s written on it promptly causes the blood in his veins to freeze and his heart to shudder to a soul wrenching stop.

"Didn’t get you this time- but there’s always next time to put a bullet in your heart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not very specific so I shall state it here:  
> Roxy: personal assistant slash all round personal jesus for eggsy  
> Merlin: music producer slash manager  
> Eggsy: singer and songwriter  
> i have the next two chapters written out so hopefully updates will be every week if life is ok  
> leave a comment or kudos below! all criticism shall be widely accepted with open arms:)  
> I'm on tumblr at [calisthenics-102](https://calisthenics-102.tumblr.com/) so feel free to ask me stuff!


	2. Chapter 2

17 February 2014, 9:00 am

Merlin comes at eight like he’d promised, dressed in his typical turtleneck jumper and looking more like the boss of a big city mafia than an overworked music producer. His eyebrows are drawn together and he looks more furious than usual. Enraged is his default setting- Eggsy reckons he popped out of the womb fully seething at the world and ready to fight. Today, though, he seems a tad bit more angry and Eggsy’s suspicions are realised when he sets his eyes on him and his glare somehow, amazingly, deepens. 

“ _Unwin_ ,” Merlin snarls. “I always knew you would be a pain in my fucking arse, but this takes the fucking cake!” He slams the Starbucks coffee tray down on the tabletop in which four coffees comfortably sit. His left eyebrow twitches as he grabs one of the cups and contrary to his demeanour, takes a dainty little sip from it.

“Sorry,” Eggsy says. “I’m not- exactly sure what I did, but whatever it was, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know what you did?” Merlin roars. “You didn’t inform any of us of the notes! What if you had been killed yesterday? What if you had been kidnapped? Your safety had been laid in our hands the moment you signed a contract but it doesn’t mean _shite_ if you hide things from us- such as being _threatened_ on the bloody regular!” There’s a vein throbbing on his temple, and he hurls himself into a chair, taking another dainty sip from the coffee like the marginal amounts are doing anything to calm him down from the heart attack he’s about to have. 

“I didn’t- think it was that big of a deal,” Eggsy says weakly, sitting in the chair opposite Merlin. He looks to Roxy for help, but all Roxy does is level him with an unhelpful glare and then turn away, staring out the window in a show of resolute petulance. “Oh come on, Merlin-”

“Don’t _come on, Merlin_ me!” Merlin snaps, and takes a larger sip of his coffee, banging away at his phone. “And for Christ’s sake, help yourselves- I didn’t buy these coffees just for them to rot. The one with a pump of almond milk and high on caffeine is for you.” 

“You’re the guv’nor, Merlin,” Eggsy says gratefully, instantly taking the cup out of the tray, while Merlin snorts, typing away at his phone. Roxy comes over as well, taking her own coffee out too and choosing to seat herself on the arm of Eggsy’s chair, leaning her hip against Eggsy’s elbow. Its not exactly a verbalized assurance of forgiveness but its Roxy’s own way of saying she’s not that mad at Eggsy for being a thick-headed berk anymore, and Eggsy will take what he can get. 

“I honestly did think it was scare tactics,” Eggsy says weakly. “Some hazing ritual- I thought I would lose my position at Kingsman if I said anything. How was I supposed to know it was all real?”

Merlin sighs, setting his cup down. “You know,” he says sourly, “if this was Charlie, he would be screaming the whole company down, demanding at least ten bodyguards secure his safety at all costs and crying to Chester King at every opportunity he gets. But this is you- and you would do whatever it takes to figure this out on your own so we spend the least amount of resources possible because for whatever reason you can’t seem to get it out of your head that your place with us is permanent. I honestly don’t know which is worse.” 

Somehow, Merlin’s voice full of defeat and exasperation is even worse than his rage just ten minutes ago and Eggsy sinks down into the chair, blooming red with humiliation. Of course he’s shit scared of losing his contract at Kingsman, who wouldn’t be? He constantly has to watch his step to make sure nothing goes wrong and no one can boot him out on account of him resorting to his true nature of being an unruly chav. Merlin doesn’t understand his fear though- because he’s a genius who would probably cause Kingsman to crash if he ever left, so he’s secure.

Roxy clears her throat, causing both of them to look at her. “Any update on the shooter?” she asks. 

Merlin winces. “They did catch him- but apparently the shooter claims he just wanted to get a bit of revenge on his ex, someone attending the pre party- the official report avoids mention of that person to give them a bit of privacy. It doesn’t explain why the shooter was only shooting at you, but all awards events have been indefinitely postponed in order to boost security in the meantime. Percival told me they believe that you were simply out of your mind with fear, and they’re shutting the case.” He turns to Eggsy and shoots him a baleful glare. “I have half a mind to bring them in, you know- show them the notes and all.” 

Eggsy holds his breath.

“But I won’t,” Merlin continues tiredly. “I have no idea if it is linked- if our charming admirer here really hired the shooter and forced him to fib to the police or he’s just taking advantage of a terrible situation to terrify you. We can’t continue like this, though, so I brought in a friend of mine- but he’s late, as usual.” He checks his phone, again, and swears under his breath. “Bastard never learnt how to be punctual.”

Roxy looks skeptical. “How is this friend going to help?” she asks. “I mean, if-”

Merlin, in return, looks offended. “Are you doubting me?” he asks. He does have a right to be offended, Eggsy muses- Merlin, much like his nickname, has the ability to somehow magically pull solutions out of his arse to every single problem Eggsy and Roxy come to him with. He can’t count on one hand the number of time Merlin has covered for Eggsy with Chester King, or with the other snotty aristocrats who couldn’t find it in themselves to believe in Eggsy and his songs. He may be a grump, but he’s always been a rock hard pillar of support and more importantly- he’s never faltered.

On the other hand, a _friend_ does sound dubious. 

Eggsy opens his mouth to speak, when there’s a series of knocks on the door in a weird pattern. Merlin, looking relieved he doesn’t have to continue to defend himself against Roxy, stands up and says, “He’s here- I’ll get the door.” Behind his back, Roxy and Eggsy share a look- Roxy looks worried and concerned, while Eggsy tries his best to project assurance and confidence in whatever Merlin has planned. 

And then Merlin comes back with someone tailing him, and Eggsy’s jaw damn near drops. It’s only at Roxy’s painful elbow that he manages to keep the drool in his mouth.

The man at Merlin’s heels is tall- about the same height as Merlin and Merlin is a whole head taller than Eggsy- and preternaturally good looking. His brown hair with a hint of grey at the temples is artfully styled to within an inch of its life- wavy, tastefully so and yet not too extreme to prevent looking like a dickbag of a businessman. He’s got the phenomenal good looks of what Eggsy would only expect out of movie stars and Eggsy has to press his lips together to prevent a squeak from escaping. He’s even clad in an elegant black pinstripe suit that can only be Saville Row- who the hell casually wears Saville Row suits? 

The man stands, his face wiped of any emotion whatsoever- until his eyes land on Eggsy and his lips twitch into a barely there smile. Eggsy, infuriatingly, feels his whole face set aflame like a goddamn bonfire. 

“This,” Merlin announces, “is Harry Hart, and he’ll be Eggsy’s bodyguard, indefinitively, from now on.”

There’s a random beat of silence- and then chaos erupts, in the form of both Roxy and Eggsy shouting.

“The fuck, bruv- I don’t need a damn babysitter!”

“Merlin, you can’t just pick any bloke off the street and have him be a ‘bodyguard’-”

“For fuck’s sake, how am I supposed to go about recording my songs or even go to the fucking loo-”

“If you wanted one, we could have just asked Percy instead of- of someone who looks like he doesn’t go out all that much, no offense to you Mr Hart.”

Hart looks like he’s trying his best not to laugh, though his eyebrows do arch a little at Roxy’s comment. “They don’t seem to have a lot of faith in you, Merlin,” Hart says, amused, and fuck even his voice sounds gorgeous- all deep and proper-like. On every other man a posh accent sounds frankly obnoxious and a direct turn-off but on Hart, it sounds like the sexiest thing Eggsy’s ever heard.

Sexy voice notwithstanding, there’s a strange heat in Eggsy’s stomach that is a mix of anger, humiliation and upset, making the coffee churn uncomfortably. Of _course_ he had known there would be repercussions for hiding the notes- but not to this extent, not to have his own boss doubt his capability to take care of himself. Eggsy’s a fairly independent bloke- some would say too independent, in fact- and the very idea that he needs someone watching his every move lest he fucking trip and hurt himself is something that grates at the very essence of who he is. “I don’t want a babysitter,” Eggsy says flatly. 

“Stop being overdramatic, everyone has one,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. “Look at the Bieber person, that pillock has ten. Right now you’re Kingsman’s hottest star and yet you don’t have any- Charlie has two, in fact.”

“Right,” Roxy says, feet at parade rest and arms crossed. Like this, she looks formidable and unimpressed. Eggsy can see why- Harry Hart may be good looking as all hell but he also looks like he has never picked up a gun in his life, much less used it. “Be that as it may, I know for a fact that every bodyguard Kingsman hires come from independent security companies of the highest service- what’s so different about bringing in one for Eggsy? Kingsman suddenly running low on funds?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “It’s _because_ its Eggsy that I brought in the best. Harry and I served for three years in the army. After that- and this is top secret- Harry went on to become one of the longest serving agents for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, while I went to work for Kingsman.”

“Holy shit,” Eggsy says, momentarily distracted and awed, staring at Hart, who for some weird reason shrugs, looking slightly pink and embarrassed, reaching up a hand to scratch at the back of his head. For a moment its such an ungentlemanly gesture- a move so out of character for the portrait Hart displays- that Eggsy is momentarily arrested, staring at him. It’s Roxy’s next words that bring him out of the gaze. 

“Fine, I trust you, but you really should have brought in one for Eggsy earlier,” Roxy says, looking at Hart uncertainly. “If he had a bodyguard around him twenty-four seven, none of this would have happened. I don’t like any of this, at all.”

“Neither do I,” Merlin says heavily. “It’s rather been an oversight on my part but honestly, no one could have predicted these threats.” He gives Eggsy a weary glance. “I like to gripe but you, Eggsy- out of all the singers that work for Kingsman you have made the least trouble. What on earth could anyone want out of you?”

“I know I’m a saint,” Eggsy says wearily, and turns to Hart. “So- how are we going to do this-” he waves a hand between them, and ends up saying lamely, “bodyguarding.”

Hart smiles. “Nice apartment,” he says instead, walking around. “Décor’s very- homely.”

Eggsy blinks at the non-sequitur but he isn’t wrong. Damn right it is- Daisy and Eggsy had designed it together. Well- Eggsy had, Daisy had mostly shrieked and painted herself purple. The walls are artsy, decorated sparsely with portraits of dogs and George Michael. Go down the hallway and you’d be greeted with a vintage photo of Elton John in feathers, signed by Elton himself. Eggsy’s fucking proud of this apartment. “Obviously,” Eggsy says. “Poured my blood and tears into this, I did.”  
Hart walks over to observe a painting of a pug hanging above a bowl of fruits. Instead, Merlin says, no trace of apology in his voice whatsoever, “Get used to it being a lot busier around here then. Harry’s going to be around you all the time- he’ll pick you up in the mornings for work, he’ll hang around like a bad smell all the way til you go to sleep, by which point of time he’ll be over at the neighbour’s house and his team will take over, guarding your door as you sleep.”

Eggsy gawks at him, not sure which to address first. “Team?”

“All the others are running separate operations, I’m afraid,” Hart says very apologetically. “But I have two agents free to run this one with me- they’ll take the night shift while I’ll be with you for most of the day.” At Roxy’s stare, he adds, “I run a professional bodyguard service these days, Miss Morton. You really do need to have more faith in your boss. I’ve decided to take this on as a favour to Merlin.”

“You could have just said that from the start!” Roxy hisses at Merlin, who just looks very smug. For such a grump he sure loved making a fool out of people. It was precisely that which made his reputation so fearful in Kingsman Records. 

“He doesn’t need to hang around me all the time,” Eggsy cuts in, his heart rapid firing. “Fuck me, I only need him to guard me at work, or during public events- not in my own damn house!” He’ll be lucky to get in even a moment’s breath, with Hart hanging around in his every step. Every call, every step, every inhale monitored like a fucking prisoner. 

Merlin’s smile fades, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Hart cuts in, pointing at a picture of Daisy toothily at the camera. “That your daughter?”

“What- nah, bruv, that’s my sister,” Eggsy says, blinking yet again at the sequitur- second time this day. Maybe Hart had a habit of it. Hart, at his reply, turns around and fixes his brown eyes on Eggsy- large and deadly serious. 

“Your sister probably needs you, doesn’t she? Looks up to you, I bet, as a hero. How will she feel about her hero falling at the hands of some inane stranger with a taste for lackluster threats? Every second of you unprotected is a second of you in danger- a second where your lovely admirer can climb in and snap your neck, or feed you poison, or incapacitate you and rob you blind. And that one second,” Hart adds, fixing his steely gaze on Eggsy, who feels like every bone in his body has turned to stone with every word Hart utters, “can ultimately lead to your death, depriving your sister of the childhood she should lead, with her elder brother by her side.”

Eggsy finds his voice again- and with it, a fuckload of anger. “Fuck you,” Eggsy retorts shakily, taking a step back, and strengthening his voice, says, again, “fuck you to hell and back. That’s low and you fucking know it, you prick- do not bring Daisy up, she doesn’t deserve to be brought into this mess-”

“She doesn’t deserve it but she will if you keep with this bullheaded attitude,” Hart parries back, perfect eyebrow arched. “I have never failed a client before, and I don’t plan to start with you.”

“Fine,” Eggsy snarls. God, he can’t believe he’d been eyeing up this guy five seconds ago- this dude’s a complete prick. “Fuck you, but fine. The moment you interfere with my schedule, though-”

“Far be it for me to interfere with the all important work of a pop singer, I’m sure,” Hart says, rolling his eyes which infuriates Eggsy even further. “We’ll stay out of your way.” 

“Good,” Eggsy says, and feels a bit like punching Hart and stomping his foot in rage. Bringing Daisy up- implying she would grow up without him- how fucking _dare_ \- as if he didn’t have that exact same childhood, the literal fucking goddamn son of a fucking _prick_ -

Roxy looks at him somewhat worriedly, and he wrenches himself out of her way. 

“Two weeks,” Eggsy snarls. “Not more beyond that. I’m not a fucking infant in need of a babysitter- much less one who’s such a fucking dickhead.” Not waiting for an answer, he storms upstairs and slams the door to his study shut, fuming and seething in rage while mentally hacking stupid gorgeous Harry Hart’s face to shreds, his forearm throbbing. 

*

The first song Eggsy had ever written for Kingsman was a song titled Carry On. It had detailed Eggsy’s journey of how he had dealt with his feelings of low self esteem and depression along with an abusive household, a contrastingly upbeat pop number that had secured its place in the number one spot on the charts very much to Chester King’s disgust. BBC Radio One was playing it all day, Kiss FM invited Eggsy up for a chat at one point, and all the major entertainment websites had started to take note. 

Later that month, Eggsy releases the album the song is a part of, entitled _Chav Speak_ meant to somehow act as a window to Eggsy’s soul and a commentary on the deeply entrenched classism in Britain all in one. There are eight songs in the album, offering a narrative on the prejudice Eggsy faces everyday, the struggle of proving himself with the odds stacked against him, striving to climb to the top in a world that favours the wealthy and the privileged. 

The album, too, is an instant hit, and remains so for a record breaking number of weeks. It wins a Grammy- which Eggsy is still convinced is more of a fever dream than part of reality- and he gets invited to Jimmy Fallon. _Jimmy fucking Fallon_ \- he’s pretty certain that’s a fucking fever dream too. His fame and net worth shoot up to unimaginable heights and his cheque from Kingsman is an actual bloody six digit number on the high end of that scale. 

During that period is when Eggsy realizes exactly how much he stands to lose in Kingsman if he slips up. The day he finds out he’s been nominated for a Grammy, he loses all his collective shit- he and Roxy jump around screaming for a straight five minutes before he goes to find Merlin, determined to invite him out for celebratory drinks. He doesn’t find him in the recording studio which is practically the man’s abode- so he goes on a little hunting spree, texting Roxy that he’ll be a little late to the pub. As he continues searching, he passes by Chester King’s office and stops, because that is definitely Merlin’s voice coming out of there.  
It’s then that Eggsy realizes that the door to the office is slightly ajar. While eavesdropping is generally frowned upon Eggsy is a bit of a lad at the best of times and so he decides to stay just out of sight, listening to the voices emanating from the office.

“… cannot understand what problem you have with this, Chester,” Merlin is saying, his voice low. 

“The boy is not worth a damned bit of the penny he brings in,” Chester says, voice sharp and tight. Any tighter, Eggsy reflects, and it would snap into little pieces floating in the wind. “Look at his image- it is not at all what I envisioned for Kingsman when Elvira gave me this job. Blasted plaque tracksuits and that accent-”

“I didn’t realise Kingsman placed more emphasis on appearance than quality,” Merlin says, voice clearly irate. “Your own nephew hasn’t produced a single chart topper in years. Eggsy’s barely been here a month and the bloody Grammy’s have already started taking an interest in him.”

“Tell your boy to clean up his act,” Chester replies to that, voice indifferent, “if he is to remain at Kingsman. The next thing you know he’ll be producing grime covers next- absolutely abhorrent.”

Eggsy, swallowing, loses all the joy he had felt at the Grammy nomination, walking away with a heavy step to his tread. It’s one thing to know about your boss’s disdain of you based on where you come from- quite another to see it laid out in front of you. 

*

Eggsy gets the rest of the day off- related to him by a slightly apologetic Roxy, who tells him so by redressing the cut on his forearm. “Hart will be back,” Roxy tells him, wrapping the bandage around his forearm tightly. 

“Hart is a prick,” Eggsy says, moving his arm to and fro. There’s a slight twinge. 

“Hart may be one, yes,” Roxy says, folding her hands primly in her lap, “but he’s right. If you won’t do this for yourself, do it for Daisy and your mother. You know you’re the only thing standing between them and that bastard Dean.”

Eggsy knows damn well he is. About a week into his new job Dean had come home drunk, slapped his mother around and charged at her with a broken wine bottle. Eggsy had stepped in and got stabbed in the stomach for his trouble- another nail in the coffin terminating his new stint with Kingsman, Eggsy had initially thought, but instead Roxy and Merlin had stepped in and helped his mother get a divorce as well as a restraining order against Dean. Eggsy had then, with his first fat cheque, purchased a roomy apartment on Hampstead Row and moved both his mother and Daisy in, armed with the knowledge that if not for him, Dean would be all over them by now. A little thing like the law couldn’t stop Dean Baker, who had thought his connections to a drug ring deep in the seedy underbelly of London run by the family of the legendary deceased international crime lord Poppy Adams made him invincible. Eggsy could stop him, however; Eggsy, with Merlin and Roxy at his back and by essence Kingsman Records and the media who had eaten up his story like chocolate cake and wasted no time in painting Dean Baker as an abhorrent demon worth not even the dirt on his shoe. 

In fact, Eggsy thinks sullenly, Dean probably is the asshole who’s sending him death threats. Dean had made no secret of what he thought of the restraining order- he had sent his runner boys Rottie and Poodle to do his dirty work for him, conk Eggsy on the head and get him out of the picture. Unfortunately for them, Eggsy knows how to give it to the best of them borne out of years of fighting in the streets, and Roxy’s skilled in martial arts- the two of them had beat the absolute shit out of both Rottie and Poodle and sent them packing. Ever since, Dean hasn’t contacted them but it also means Eggsy can’t step back into the estates again for fear of immediately getting beaten up by Dean’s many cronies. 

“Eggsy?” Roxy asks, concerned. 

“Maybe Dean is the one sending them threats,” Eggsy points out. “It all fits- he wants me out because he wants to get at me mum and Daisy.”

“Is he the type to send eloquently and graphically written death threats?” Roxy asks skeptically. “Look- this one says _I will feast vociferously on the flesh of your bones as you rot with an axe to your head._ I doubt Dean’s the type to know what vociferous means.”

“I don’t think I know either,” Eggsy admits, and shrugs. “So what? I’m sure he’s got plenty fluent people under his control. Maybe he’s ordered one of them to keep sending me the threats and have a crack at me.”

“If he did,” Roxy counters, “I think he would probably attack you here, instead of at the gala.”

Even the mention of the gala makes Eggsy nervous again, and he stands up and walks around, hugging his arms close to his chest. “You really think the gala shooter is after me? Could be just- you know-”

Roxy holds up three fingers and ticks them off. “One, the shooter would have shot at that singer multiple times, therefore murdering them if he was emotional and aiming to exact revenge but he didn’t- he fired two bullets only. Two, both bullets were shot at you and only at you. Three, you got a note directly after referencing the incident and saying that next time the bullet will most definitely hit you point blank.” She puts down her hand and glares at Eggsy, the heat of it searing directly into the side of his face like a hot poker. “One is coincidence. Two is a pattern, and three? Three is fucking terrifying.”

“Alright, you made your fucking point,” Eggsy grouses, throwing himself into the wheelie chair by the bed and spinning around morosely. “I just- even the thought of what happened at the gala scares me, alright, I just- I just wish it was really just some other attack and not someone out to get me. The notes I can handle. The bullets, I can’t.”

Roxy’s looking at him, the expression on her face pinched and anxious, and it makes Eggsy look away and stare at the tabletop. All of this is escalating too fast and its all too real for Eggsy’s liking. If even Roxy is worried- strong, capable Roxy who once decked Charlie for acting like a dick- then Eggsy’s really landed himself in it this time. 

Out of his periphery he sees Roxy scooting closer, until she grabs his hand and holds it tight within both her hand. “Look,” Roxy says firmly. “None of that now, we have Hart and he’ll make sure you do not get hurt. He’s an ex agent, he’ll protect you just fine.”

“Hart’s a prick,” Eggsy grumbles again. Hart is a prick, albeit a fine-ass one with a body that looks like it belongs to Eros rather than some middle aged arrogant arse with a sharp tongue cutting crueler than a serrated knife. “He brought up my sister for no reason and implied that I’m selfish. His hair may always look that unnaturally good, but he is a prick of the highest class, barring maybe Charlie and Chester.”

Roxy squeezes his hand before letting go, looking amused. “Prick or not,” she says, “he’s your best chance at surviving whoever wants you dead. Besides, he’s actually a legend- Merlin’s told me about him before. Did you know he once foiled the plans of the Swedish mafia to terrorize this fishing village on a concussion and a broken foot? The man has a brain sharper than my Nan’s, and that’s saying something.”

That is something, then- Eggsy’s met Roxy’s Nan before, and she is a terrifying force of nature. 

“If he was so brilliant, why did he leave the service then?” Eggsy asks, turning his phone on to flip through his messages. There are several- nine missed calls from his mum and five texts requesting him to call her which all make him wince, and a few texts from Jamal, Ryan and Brandon, asking him if he’s all right. 

Roxy shrugs. “I’m not sure- Merlin refused to say. Something traumatic happened, probably- that’s what makes them all leave.”

“Still, I think he’s a prick,” Eggsy says, opening his email. The latest one is from a completely unknown email address, and there’s no subject. These days Eggsy rarely gets email, and he knows what this latest one is. He knows it as sure as he knows he’s a great singer, and Roxy is a great PR manager. 

“What is it?” Roxy asks, face in a frown. Eggsy hesitates, wondering if he should hide it but- cat’s out of the proverbial bag now. What will he gain out of hiding it, other than both Roxy’s and Merlin’s ire? He waves her over and with her staring at his phone screen, he opens the email. What he sees next makes his blood freeze.

_Great play getting Hart to protect you- but he won’t last either._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone enjoys this update! it's a bit slow but bear with me, next chapter will pick up the feed and look at that, we finally meet Harry!  
> for the sake of this story lets all pretend all awards shows happen in the UK  
> also this story is purely going to be from eggsy's point of view so it is gonna be limited and unreliable for some parts of his narrative- i'll let you lovely readers figure out which;)
> 
> as always, do leave a comment and kudos! i promise i won't bite XD


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a slightly longer update because the next one's gonna be slightly short!

18 February 2014, 10:00 am  


Hart comes to get him in the morning, dressed in a resplendent suit- Tom Ford, Eggsy thinks faintly. After overhearing Chester King’s disdain that fateful day about his favoured Adidas jackets, Eggsy’s mostly restrained himself to dull coloured outfits that skirt the side of rich fashion- today, he’s outfitted himself in simple black and yellow polo tee and the kind of jeans that cut off circulation around the general area of his calves- courtesy of Roxy, who’d forced him to buy them- ditching his usual winged sneakers with a pang of regret, for plain brown loafers. Its modest and while it doesn’t suit Eggsy’s own tastes, he always feels perfectly fine traipsing around as such in Kingsman Records but next to Hart, he feels like a horribly underdressed peasant.

  


“Shall we?” Hart says genially, no hint of the previous day’s resentment and tension in his face. He’s all grace and loose limbs, ready to start the day on a fresh page. It makes Eggsy want to hate him a little bit. In response, Eggsy merely nods, stepping out and locking the door behind him.  


Hart’s car is nondescript, about the same size and make of a run-of-the-mill London taxi. A smart choice, probably- he can’t bloody well bring Eggsy around in a limousine, that would be setting off warning bells for whoever wants to kill him.  


At the driver’s seat is a man decked out in the same resplendent suit as Harry, with shades and a earpiece on, looking very much like an extra from a Bond movie. Beside him is a woman in a sharp pantsuit, platinum blonde hair drawn into a tight ponytail. Her features are sharp and almost hawk like. As Eggsy slides in, putting the seatbelt on, the man gives him a nod and says, “I’m Ector- this is Kay. We’ll be the team working alongside Arthur to protect you from any threats.”  


“He means me,” Hart butts in, as he closes the car door beside him. Ector turns back in front, turning out of the driveway. “I go by Arthur to my agents.”  


“Arthur, Kay, Ector, Merlin,” Eggsy recites, snorting a little. “The lot of you King Arthur fans, or something?” From the front, Kay smiles lightly.  


“Something like that,” Hart says, looking surprised- probably that Eggsy actually knew something other than how to string words together in a tune, like most other people. “It’s tradition- the founder was a King Arthur fan.”  


“Bunch ov nerds,” Eggsy quips, and grins when Hart lets out a surprised huff of laughter. His laughter, Eggsy privately thinks, is kind of nice- soft and sort of sweet, like clouds floating in the sky. Instantly, as soon as the thought forms in his head he wants to slap himself. He’s not the kind to get all flirty and blushy around people he likes, trying to get them laugh and eat out of the palm of his hand. He has more dignity, especially, to try to do that around someone he’s just met- who, furthermore, insulted him just a day ago by insinuating he did not put his own loved ones above his sense of self-pride.  


At that particular memory, his mood darkens again and he shifts on his seat, turning to stare out the window. He can feel Hart’s questioning stare at the back of his head but he doesn’t turn back, his mood darkened enough that it affects the easy camaraderie between them too. They go on for an awkward silence for five minutes as Ector drives past five blocks, before Hart clears his throat.  


“Look, I apologise for what I said yesterday,” Hart says. “Thing is, I-”  


“Was being a prick?” Eggsy offers.  


“Perhaps,” Hart allows, his lips twitching. “I’m used to corralling difficult, bratty, rich clients to listen to what I say. You’re- rather different from what I’m used to.”  


He does fit the bill of being difficult; he and Roxy had been arguing with Merlin over the decision to let Hart guard him. That still doesn’t excuse what Hart had said- and more importantly, how he’d used that against Eggsy. Eggsy, in general, is not a huge fan of having his past used as a tool to get him to obey. And further, how the fuck had Hart even known about it?  


“I try to be the best older brother for Daisy, Mr Hart,” Eggsy says instead, turning to glower at Hart. “No matter what TMZ says, I’ve always- every decision I’ve made-”  


“Has been to put Daisy above yourself, I know,” Hart says apologetically. “Merlin told me. I can’t take back what I said but I can, in fact, assure you that I meant no malice in saying so. I believe you to be an upright, excellent guardian for Daisy. If I implied otherwise, I’m sorry.”  


It’s a fairly elaborate and excellent apology and any remnants of ire within Eggsy dissipate rapidly. “You’re forgiven, Mr Hart,” Eggsy says. “And I’m not a guardian for Daisy- I’m just her older brother.”  


If Hart’s feeling a little incredulous at that, he hides it bloody well, choosing to say instead, “Call me Harry- Mr Hart makes me feel far too old.”  
“Which you aren’t, obviously,” Eggsy quips, and delights in hearing Hart- _Harry _scoff.  
__

__

__At least Harry has the foresight to apologise, Eggsy thinks, stretching his legs in the comfortable silence that falls. He could be like the countless others in Eggsy’s life who had disregarded his own personal feelings and ridden over them with their own agenda- but he’d stepped down and apologized. A man in this day and age, especially one from a proper background, willing to shed their pride and apologise? Harry’s full of surprises, it seems.  
_ _

__*  
_ _

__When they reach the building, Harry steps out, all limber grace and elegance. Minutes ago he’d been busy on his phone, typing away- an act only he could have made the height of sophistication. As Ector drives the car away presumably to park it somewhere, they enter the lobby with Eggsy half a step behind Harry only to have a harried Merlin meet them at the transparent doors.  
_ _

__

__“Any trouble?” Merlin asks, eyes wide as he checks over Eggsy. Eggsy stares back at him, nonplussed.  
_ _

__

__“No,” Harry replies. He looks startled, too, at Merlin’s appearance. “Why, did something occur?”  
_ _

__

__“Yes,” Merlin spits out, running a hand over his bald head haphazardly before dragging it over his face. Merlin’s Moods, or the process of him becoming anxious have three phases, so explained by Roxy to Eggsy. Phase One was him being merely worried and concerned, the area around his eyes getting wrinkly and pinched and his lips pressing together into a white line. Phase two was him pacing around, speaking in short clipped sentences, face red and purpling fast. The last phase was his face completely awash of colour, speaking through gritted teeth in acerbic tones- the phase he is in now. Without realizing it, Eggsy’s stiff again, feeling his muscles bunch up in tension which he really doesn’t need.  
_ _

__

__“Come with me, we don’t really need extra ears,” Merlin says tersely, and spins around on his heel, Harry following him. Eggsy looks around, frowning. Extra ears? The lobby is empty- the receptionist is on her phone, there’s a teenager on her phone sitting in one of the couches, and one of the other producers in Kingsman Records, Hugo, is at the front desk waiting for the receptionist to finish her call, waving to Eggsy who waves back, confused.  
_ _

__

__“Eggsy!” Merlin snaps and Eggsy starts, rushing to join them where they’re waiting for the lift. “God, keep up instead of waiting for bloody Christmas, will you?”  
_ _

__

__Acerbic tones. Wincing, Eggsy stands slightly behind Merlin, bouncing slightly on his feet. From beside Merlin, Harry shoots him a slightly commiserating look and lays a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Merlin, calm down, will you? I don’t have a Snickers with me but-”  
_ _

__

__“Hilarious,” Merlin says, deadpan. “Anymore witty one-liners in you?”  
_ _

__

__The lift pings, announcing its arrival. When it opens, Charlie steps out, accompanied by his own personal assistant- a woman called Amelia, who’s about the sweetest person Eggsy has ever met, and also the most unfortunate for being saddled with someone like Charlie. As Charlie steps out, he gives Eggsy a sneering up-and-down before rudely brushing past him, hitting his shoulder into Eggsy’s on purpose. Amelia, who’s walking at a considerably slower gait, winces and tells Eggsy, “Sorry- you know how he is,” before rushing behind Charlie, saying, “You promised Mr King you’d have the new single ready to record by today!”  
_ _

__

__“I thought he released an album just last month,” Eggsy idly comments, as they herd into the lift.  
_ _

__

__“It’s not doing so well,” Merlin says, shrugging. “Barely made the charts, and it made about a fifth of what yours made when it first came out. Chester’s been on his case since- nepotism only gets you so far. Poor Hesketh,” he adds, as an afterthought.  
_ _

__

__“He doesn’t seem like a charming man, anyway,” Harry comments. He turns to Eggsy, frowning deeply and gesturing at his shoulder with his head. “Hardly a gentleman, for what he just did to you. Are you alright?”  
_ _

__

__Eggsy nods, touched by Harry’s concern. His and Charlie’s rivalry would be new to Harry, but for Harry to be worried if a little bump hurt was oddly- heartwarming. Then again, Harry’s his bodyguard. What else is he supposed to do, than look after his charge’s health?  
_ _

__

__The lift doors close, and Merlin turns to Eggsy and Harry, eyes grave. “The mailman dropped by a package at your studio, Eggsy. It had the shredded up remains of a copy of your contract with Kingsman Records in it, with blood all over it. And it was signed off by X.”  
_ _

__

__Eggsy freezes, staring at Merlin. “What- how?” he asks, confused. “I thought every corner of this building was covered in cameras!”  
_ _

__

__“It was delivered by the bloody mailman,” Merlin grouses, folding his arms. “Came in and asked Lara at the desk for a Gary Unwin. He left the box at your studio with Roxy, who got suspicious and opened it.”  
_ _

__

__Harry looks tense, like he’d suspected something had happened but didn’t know what, and now his suspicions had been confirmed. “Just the copy? No note?” he demands. Eggsy, meanwhile, turns in front and stares at his own pale reflection in the elevator doors. God, his contract shredded and covered in blood. That’s enough of a hint, isn’t it- it’s practically screaming out that whoever’s doing this, he or she wants Eggsy out of Kingsman and out of the industry even if murder or assault is the only way to achieve it. Fuck, all of Eggsy’s years of living with a bloody abusive stepdad and being a rentboy never prepared him for this- for the apprehension of anticipating each threat in the form of a little note, the fear that came in between each one that every time, it was about to be worse- and the horror when the next threat was indeed, something worse. Back in the estate all Eggsy dealt with was brute force, punches and kicks, having his head shoved into the pillar and a cock shoved in his mouth for a mere twenty quid. This isn’t brute force, though- it’s something more sinister in the way it hides from Eggsy and reveals its hand when Eggsy expects it least.  
_ _

__

__Then again- _then again _\- this X is still too much of a coward to face Eggsy outright. Hiding behind faceless and tasteless threats like, lacking the bollocks to tell Eggsy to his face he wanted him gone. This is what X wants- Eggsy living in fear of what comes next.  
_ _ __

__

__

__“Roxy told me about what you received last night,” Merlin tells him tersely. “And no, Harry, there wasn’t any note.” At that, Harry looks pensive before whipping out his phone and furiously texting someone.  
_ _

__

__“What’re you doing?” Eggsy croaks, looking at Harry bemusedly.  
_ _

__

__“The threat came from within,” Harry answers distractedly. “We need to step up security around you. I was initially going to have Ector and Kay off for the day and guard your apartment at night but I see now- we need them too, I’m calling them back.”  
_ _

__

__“It seems unfair to call them back if they’re already off for the day,” Eggsy frowns. “Come on, I’ll be fine for the day, you can-” His voice abruptly tapers off at the look Harry gives him, one of incredulity and disbelief so acute it makes Eggsy’s insides shrivel a bit.  
_ _

__

__“Eggsy,” Harry says urgently, “it’s a copy of your contract. Who has access to the contracts of every single artist at Kingsman? You’re in danger everywhere now, Eggsy- it’s not a matter of unfairness by calling them back. It’s an absolute necessity to guarantee your survival.”  
_ _

__

__“It’s an inside job,” Merlin agrees through gritted teeth, and therein lies the reason why Merlin looks so tense, Eggsy thinks- because it’s an inside job. Merlin, part of the recruiting committee hiring producers and other staff alike for Kingsman, takes great pride in hiring every single employee. Snobs they may be, but they produce exemplary work that gives Kingsman its renowned name- to know one of them is terrorizing one of the singers he manages must be a devastating realization. “I’ve already booked a meeting with Chester at three sharp- I’m sorry, Eggsy, but we absolutely have to bring the police in.”  
_ _

__

__“The _police _?” Eggsy damn near screeches, and slams a hand on the emergency stop button, causing the lift to come to a shuddering halt. “Oh for god’s sake, Merlin, of course I’m fucking scared but this is no reason to bring in the police!”  
_ _ __

__

__

__“What more reason do you need?” Merlin asks, his brogue thickening in anger. He’s a formidable wall of righteous fury, glaring down at Eggsy who won’t be intimidated, damn it. “You getting a chunk blown out of you by this bugger who decides to take a real shot at you next?”  
_ _

__

__“If it was just a case of notes,” Harry interjects in a more genteel tone, staring at Eggsy with kinder brown eyes, “there would be- less of a need for police because it could be anything- and therefore it could be nothing. But this- Eggsy, someone clearly went to all the trouble of risking their position at Kingsman just to send you a very, very graphic explanation of what they plan to do to you.”  
_ _

__

__“It’s a rotten apple,” Merlin adds, his tone brokering no disagreement, “and we need to force the apple out.”  
_ _

__

__Eggsy holds no illusions- its become personal for Merlin. It’s a matter of retaining the integrity of an age-old company set on being the best and maintaining it, and it can’t do that with a coward with a penchant for harassing in its midst. Eggsy’s complete lack of freedom, now, is just a means to an end and it is this, more than everything, that absolutely makes his temper boil to a magnitude it only does with Dean.  
_ _

__

__“Fine,” Eggsy bites out, clenching his hands into tight fists. “I mean, I don’t even give a shit because this guy just seems like a B- movie villain but fine, but also fuck you.” At the latter, Merlin looks exasperated while Harry’s lip twitches, his warmth a welcoming presence at Eggsy’s back.  
_ _

__

__“Oh for god’s sake, Eggsy, I’m doing this for your own good-” It is then that the intercom in the lift buzzes and the tinny voice of whoever’s shift it is to guard the building echoes across the lift. Today, its Jamal- about a month after Eggsy had started work at Kingsman one member of the security team had resigned due to wanting to spend the rest of his years with his wife. Eggsy had put Jamal’s name up for recruiting, figuring that it would be a good straight job for Jamal- like Eggsy, Jamal had dropped out of college due to familial needs. The security job, in Jamal’s words, had been a much needed boon, a ‘pretty sick job, mate, you’re top for lettin’ me have this.”  
_ _

__

__“I noticed the lift came to a stop,” Jamal says formally, no trace of the south Londoner accent in his voice. “Any problem, Mister Campbell, Mister Unwin?”  
_ _

__

__“None, thank you, Jamal,” says Merlin heavily, Eggsy waving at the camera in the far right, before the lift continues to move up. They’re quiet until the lift finally stops at the sixth floor and the lift doors open to a nervous Roxy pacing in front of the lift, chewing on her thumbnail. Her eyes are focused on the space in front of her in a razor sharp stare, and once Eggsy steps forward she rushes towards him, engulfing him in a hug as he pats her back reassuringly.  
_ _

__

__“Come on, Rox,” Eggsy says. “Takes more’n an idiot trying to be funny to take me out.”  
_ _

__

__“I was so worried,” Roxy says, a slight tremble to her bottom lip. “James was too, but he’s recording a new single today-”  
_ _

__

__“James knows?” Merlin interrupts, startled.  
_ _

__

__“Of course he does, I was all pale and he wouldn’t take a no for an answer.”  
_ _

__

__“Chester’s not going to be happy about this,” Merlin says, frowning. Merlin, at times, is a proper stickler for rules but there’s no love lost on his end for Chester- everyone knows that the man is set to take centre stage once Chester’s wizened, frail husk drops dead. There’s about half as much respect as one would expect out of him for the man at the head of the company so Merlin being worried about pissing off Chester King confuses Eggsy because sometimes, that very habit is Merlin’s pastime.  
_ _

__

__Harry probably notices Eggsy’s confused look, because he explains, “We can only bring in the police at Chester’s say so. Keeping him happy is in our best interests.”  
_ _

__

__“James won’t tattle,” Roxy states flatly, hands on her hips as she stares Merlin down. “He may be excitable, but he won’t shoot his mouth off to the wrong person.”  
_ _

__

__Merlin opens his mouth- presumably to argue- but Harry cuts over him, raising his voice slightly. “Do you have the parcel, still?”  
_ _

__

__“It’s in the studio,” Roxy says, gesturing for them to follow her. They do, Harry a constant warmth at Eggsy’s side. Of course Eggsy bloody expects it, Harry being his bodyguard and all but the warmth is unusual and distracting- does Harry run hot at all times? If he’s so warm all the time why does he even wear suits all the fucking time, double breasted ones at that?  
_ _

__

__When they enter the studio the box is sitting on a chair in front of the controls, the top ripped off and sitting in shreds all over the room. There’s no one else in the studio at the moment which strikes Eggsy a bit unawares- he’s used to there being at least five people in the room whenever he enters.  
_ _

__

__“I know I asked you this twice already,” Harry says, as he approaches the box, “but are you quite sure-”  
_ _

__

__“Nothing on cameras,” Merlin confirms. “No red flags the past few days. The mailman’s just an ordinary chap- he’s been registered at the postal service as a loyal worker for a decade. The person who sent off the parcel was caught on camera but only the top of his head can be seen- and he was in a green hoodie. All dead ends.”  
_ _

__

__Eggsy steps forward, only to have someone hold back his arm- looking beside him, he sees that it’s Harry who has his hand wrapped in a firm grip around Eggsy’s bicep as he looks down at him severely, a worried crinkle between his eyebrows. “I suggest you to not take a look,” he says. “It may be potentially disturbing.”  
_ _

__

__Eggsy snatches his arm away, rolling his eyes. “Come off it, I’ve seen worse running Smith Street,” he retorts. “You don’t come from a background like mine and not see some of the worst of what humanity has to offer. Some tool is having a bit of fun yanking me around like a string a cat plays with and I’m not having it. Let me see it, yeah?”  
_ _

__

__Harry, frustrated, just stares outright at him. “You’re really not like my other clients,” he mutters, so low Eggsy’s sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it.  
_ _

__

__All the same, he grins back cheerfully and says, “Too right I ain’t!”  
_ _

__

__The contents of the package itself isn’t that grisly, to be honest. It is, literally, just Eggsy’s contract ripped up with blood artfully drizzled over it like a fucking painting. Consideringly, Eggsy peers into the box with Harry still standing guard over him acting like he’s about to wilt any second, before quickly dipping his head close to the box, taking a great big sniff.  
_ _

__

__“What the fuck, Eggsy!” Roxy yells, striding forward. Quick as a flash, Harry yanks him back, grabbing hold of his chin and pulling it this way and that. Eggsy squirms, about to explain, but one flinty look from Harry stops him from doing so and he waits patiently for Harry to finish his scrutiny.  
_ _

__

__“And what,” Harry utters, lowly and dangerously, “may I ask, made you do something as extremely foolhardy and idiotic as sniff at a foreign substance sent in a threat by someone most definitely out to kill you-”  
_ _

__

__“It’s not blood,” Eggsy says, pulling his chin out of Harry’s grip- no small feat- and rolling his eyes. “It’s just coloured sugar made to look like blood. My mates buy it in stock for Halloween. That’s why there’s no stench- see?”  
_ _

__

__Merlin, too, peers into the box and then takes a huge sniff too. “I must admit, I sort of took one look at the red and freaked out,” he says slowly, staring at the fake blood. “I didn’t really inspect- it doesn’t have that stench, true, but how did you know it wasn’t blood?”  
_ _

__

__“Because I’m well-versed in what blood smells and looks like,” Eggsy says shortly. Living in the same household as Dean Baker for a decade would do that to anyone. His physical assaults had, at one point, become so commonplace that Eggsy couldn’t get through a week without the taste of blood in his mouth. “This is the work of someone without the chops to pull off a fully fearful threat. There’s nothing tackier than fake blood.”  
_ _

__

__“Something doesn’t add up,” Roxy adds, frowning. “This guy has enough resources to hire gunmen, enough ears to know when you hire a bodyguard, but uses _fake blood _to threaten you?” She glances at Eggsy disapprovingly, and says, “Maybe the blood was poisoned.”  
_ _ __

__

__

__“Of course it wasn’t,” Eggsy retorts, annoyed, and then holds up three fingers, “because one, the gunman isn’t connected- they closed it off, Roxy, I don’t understand why you’re still pushing for this- two, all he’s done for a month is just send me threats and literally nothing else, and therefore three, this guy is clearly a rookie or a jealous singer trying to throw me off track. There’s nothing to it- just meaningless threats.”  
_ _

__

__“Or,” Harry says sternly, looking unconvinced by Eggsy’s conclusions, “he’s trying to get your- and my- guard down far enough to let him strike. The fake blood draws our attention away from when he’s trying to draw real blood.”  
_ _

__

__What a reach. Eggsy fumes, crossing his arms petulantly. He himself wasn’t even shaken by this entirely unimaginative new threat- so why were all of them so up in arms over it? One look at Harry, however, tells him that Harry isn’t about to budge on his latest revelation- the man is already turning away, tapping at the side of his glasses and speaking to someone on what must be an invisible earpiece. “It’s just fake blood!” he yells at his back. “It’s not that serious!”  
_ _

__

__“And on that note,” Merlin says, clearing his throat so that all the occupants in the room look at him, even Harry on his phone because only Merlin can command that sort of effortless but directed authority, “I will need Eggsy to go for a blood test. We don’t know for sure if the blood can transmit poison through someone just smelling it, and that was a highly dangerous thing you did, Eggsy, regardless of what you know blood to be like- don’t look at me like that, Unwin, don’t make me put an even tighter leash on you.”  
_ _

__

__Eggsy, irritated, feels very much like just stomping his feet like a petulant child- since he’s being treated like one, anyway. All of this is an exaggeration, an overreaction- thus far he’s not actually seen anything that proves he’s in real, legitimate, tangible danger so he doesn’t get why both Harry and Merlin are acting like a fire has been lit under their arses. This is way too much resources, way too much money, way too much time spent on just a possibility of a threat. So much, he thinks sourly, just to protect Kingsman’s cash cow. Money really does make the world go round.  
_ _

__

__“I’ll get someone to stow this- thing- away,” Roxy decides, whipping her phone out to make a quick call, “and in the meantime, Eggsy can probably start recording for his new album. He didn’t come in just to get threatened and then reprimanded for his lack of care in dealing with said threat, did he?” Harry opens his mouth- presumably to object- and Roxy raises her voice very slightly. “You do your job, and he’ll do his. Those new songs won’t record themselves. Merlin, once you’re done, you need to be here to oversee the recording.”  
_ _

__*  
_ _

__18 February 2014, 3:00 pm  
_ _

__

__Chester King, unsurprisingly, doesn’t think much of Merlin’s plea to get the police involved.  
_ _

__

__“What do you mean, you don’t think this is serious enough?” Merlin gapes, looking astounded. Harry doesn’t so much blend in the background as he infuriatingly sticks out like a goddamn Botticelli painting, a splash of effortlessly elegant pinstriped black and brown against the dull washed out white. Right now, he’s blending in even less, eyebrows drawn together in a glare that King seems to very charitably ignore. “Someone sent him his contract shredded up-”  
_ _

__

__“Then we’ll tighten security,” King says, hunched over a bunch of documents at his desk. They’re all huddled in his office- Eggsy lounging back in a chair, feeling his stomach gnaw at him for a bite, Harry against the far pillar trying to both observe and influence what’s unfolding before him and failing, and Merlin standing at the desk, both palms flat against the tabletop. “But there’s no need to involve the police.”  
_ _

__

__Merlin looks like he’s about ready to explode. “Oh for- what about the shooter at the Grammys pre-party?”  
_ _

__

__King looks up at that, peering up at Merlin curiously. “Didn’t the poor chap get caught? Was a love lorn admirer of some D lister, was he not?”  
_ _

__

__“Yes, but the shooter was shooting at Unwin, and he received a threat directly referring to the shooting right after-”  
_ _

__

__“On whose testimony?” King asks highly skeptically.  
_ _

__

__“Mine,” Eggsy says, briefly rolling his eyes in his head. “He was shooting at me- I’m sure of it.”  
_ _

__

__“Charlie,” King says definitively, like it settles all arguments on the issue, “claims the man was shooting at him.”  
_ _

__

__“Of course he would and you would be-” Merlin bites off the sentence as Eggsy discreetly aims a hard kick at his ankle. Eggsy may not understand why Merlin’s pushing so intently for a police investigation, but he’s not going to let Merlin get himself suspended on probation, or god forbid him fired all because he was shooting his mouth off around Chester King’s invariably provoking self.  
_ _

__

__King levels a suspicious look at both of them, but continues in his wizened, frail voice, “I can’t hurt the good name of this company by bringing in the police on nothing more than mere chance.”  
_ _

__

__“Threats aren’t mere _chance _.” Merlin stands back, folding his arms across his chest to cut an imposing figure. Roxy’s now with Amelia, getting Indian at the cute little shop opposite that sells amazing aromatic food- Eggsy direly wishes he could have accompanied them instead. “Eggsy got real threats, through email and real mail. That must count for something, Chester.”  
_ _ __

__

__

__“And you have proof they weren’t a prank?” King asks, white eyebrow arched.  
_ _

__

__“A month long prank?” Merlin asks disbelievingly. “One that involves drizzling blood across a shredded up contract no one but an employee at Kingsman could have gotten?”  
_ _

__

__“Fake blood, I understand,” King says. “One that can be easily bought at a thrift store.”  
_ _

__

__“Next time,” Merlin hisses, “what if it is more than just a torn up contract? What then? You would have written his death by not allowing me to contact the authorities-”  
_ _

__

__“And you do not understand,” Chester says drolly, still hunched over the bloody document with his pen working over it, voice calm like he’s unaware of the fact that Merlin’s this close to spitting nails, “that much more than simply a supposition of danger is considered here. Kingsman’s only artist in the top ten of UK charts is Mr Unwin, and absolutely no one else. We need fresh talent, and this exact same fresh talent will not want to sign on and would probably- god forbid- sign on with _Statesmen _, instead, if they find out that such a severe breach of security has occurred, so much so that it required the police sniffing around.” He puts the finishing touch to the document and finally looks up, meeting Merlin’s furious look with a steady gaze this side of supercilious.  
_ _ __

__

__

__The fury melts away from Merlin’s look slightly, replaced by confusion. Something in Eggsy’s stomach drops slightly- Roxy had confided in Eggsy right after he’d signed on that the day he’d been scouted by her was about a few days after an ill-behaved artist had been let go for misdemeanor with a number of the producers, resulting in complaints. Kingsman only scouted for fresh talent when they were lacking in numbers and right now, they weren’t lacking, which meant-  
_ _

__

__“We’re either going to be hiring more producers or letting go of some of our artists who are not performing as well,” King says, in response to Merlin’s questioning look. “It’s one or the other-”  
_ _

__

__“But obviously you’d rather let go of the artists because god forbid you waste even more manpower,” Merlin says, sounding absolutely disgusted. He would be- Merlin’s always been a proponent for fairness. Eggsy straightens up too, feeling a frisson of fear slide down his back. King had just said he was Kingsman’s highest ranking artists so _maybe _he was off the hook but you could never be too sure and King could never stand him, besides- and what about James? The man was a godsend in terms of a fellow like minded companion at the high brow nature of Kingsman. Eggsy didn’t think he could survive without James in the stifling competition.  
_ _ __

__

__

__“You were always a brilliant one,” King says approvingly. “Obviously, it is also time we bring in some talented music producers and managers too but-”  
_ _

__

__“They might be going through a dry spell but they’re all skilled in their own right, aren’t they?” Eggsy says hastily, standing up as Merlin shoots him a panicky look. He ignores Merlin, and continues, saying, “I mean- some of them are wonderful artists and once you let them go they’ll probably be snatched up by Statesmen, won’t they?”  
_ _

__

__“Of course,” King says, waving a hand airily, “and if they cared half as much as you apparently do, young man, the quality of what comes out of their mouths would have been far higher.” He spares a look at Eggsy and then scowls. “Oh, relax, Mr Unwin, you and Mr Spencer are absolutely fine.”  
_ _

__

__Eggsy feels his own eyes widen, and very clearly hears Merlin quietly groan. “I- I don’t-”  
_ _

__

__“I don’t fault you for looking out for your own,” King says, although his expression clearly says otherwise. “However, if you- both of you- keep pushing this infernal agenda of police involvement, I cannot guarantee that you- or Mr Spencer, for that matter- will be just as fine.”  
_ _

__

__“Just think it through, Chester,” Merlin says urgently, “and tell me if- if you change your mind. About the investigation.”  
_ _

__

__The look on Chester King’s face- full of pinched disgust- tells Eggsy he’s willing to do anything but._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things of note:
> 
> 1) the blood is a gimmick that's found in shops close to my house- it's basically gelatinous sugary red liquid so we use it for april fools' pranks and stuff. in reality, if you ever receive a death threat, pls don't do what eggsy did, its very dangerous and he's a bit of a maniac  
> 2) can chester actually sack artists like that? probably not, but this is a work of fiction entirely inspired by chester's canon dickhead personality and the running series of empire, so  
> 3) if you read closely, there's at least three hints here as to who the mysterious X might be! but i doubt anyone cares about the plot i think yall are here for the hartwin, which, fair point, stay tuned for domestic hartwin in the next chapter!  
> 4) there are no words that are italicized for this chapter or the first one bc for these two chapters strangely the html text isn't working at all. for future chapters if im unable to italicize ill prob either capitalize(id prefer not to though) or use inverted commas but either option is very ugly to me so if anyone knows how to italicize in html text (for chapter 2 it was using _and _but apparently its not working anymore for this one???) PLS TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS BELOW IM BEGGING__
> 
> __lastly, leave a comment and a kudos if you liked this chapter or were indifferent or even hated it idk xxx_ _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of domestic abuse

18 February 2014, 7:00 pm  


“I’ve ordered Indian, by the way. From opposite the building,” Harry says casually when they’re on the way back home, Eggsy leaning his head against the top of his seat. At Harry’s words, his head snaps off the leather seat with a painful crick, as he turns to stare at Harry. “What?”  


“I’ve ordered Indian,” Harry repeats, smiling slightly as he turns to return Eggsy’s confused gaze with a calm, amused look. “What’s the matter? I thought you liked Indian? You did tell me so.”  


Of course Eggsy knows he told Harry so. After the catastrophic meeting with Chester King Eggsy had only had time for a single burrito and while scarfing it down, had complained to Harry that he much preferred Indian food and Indian food especially from the shop opposite the building. “Nothing against Mexican,” he had said in between bites, Harry looking like he was listening to inane chatter about food, “but the tikka masala they make opposite is the bee’s knees. You’ll feel ascended. Heaven-like.”  


“It’s really not that great,” Merlin had said dryly, still peeved at Eggsy for going off in the meeting, but then Roxy had walked in and enthusiastically supported Eggsy’s claims.  


So, obviously, Eggsy knows he did tell Harry- many times, in many different ways- how much he loved the food from there but he hadn’t exactly expected Harry to listen and mentally register that yes, Eggsy loves Indian food from the shop opposite the Kingsman building. He had sort of- just expected Harry to nod along and then promptly put it out of his head once the conversation was over because that isn’t exactly an important bit of information to have, what Eggsy’s favourite food is. Of all things, he hadn’t expected Harry to actually remember.  


“I didn’t expect you to remember,” Eggsy admits, to which Harry frowns.  


“Of course I’ll remember,” he says. “Besides, all you had for lunch was a sad burrito and it was all Merlin’s and my fault. The least I could do is buy you dinner.”  


Eggsy’s so exhausted he can’t think straight, so his brain gets befuddled and focuses on buy you dinner on repeat, wondering why the fuck Harry’s buying him dinner, so he just blinks at Harry for a few seconds, confused, until it all clicks. Harry ordered the food, Harry’s paying for dinner.  


“Oh my god,” Eggsy says, absolutely mortified. “Oh my god, I have to- you don’t need to do that, c’mon, you’re only my bodyguard, I have to pay you back-”  


“Nonsense,” Harry declares. “Consider it my treat. You looked rather wrung out by the end of it all- I could hardly torture you further by forcing you to cook dinner, can I?”  


Eggsy doesn’t have half the guts necessary to come right out and say he mostly survives on microwave dinners when his mother isn’t home, and so he chooses to keep shut, frantically patting his pockets for his wallet. His mother had taught him manners, and manners entailed paying those who paid for your dinner right back-  


“Eggsy. _Eggsy _.” Harry grabs hold of his hand to still it. “If you don’t stop, I shall be very upset. Let me treat you to dinner.”  
__

____

Eggsy blinks up at him, wide- eyed. Harry’s hands, clutching Eggsy’s own, feel strangely cool and soft for a retired secret service agent. “I have to pay you back- manners.”  


“Manners maketh man, as I say,” Harry says, his lips twitching in an aborted half smile. “However, manners also include letting a gentleman pay for your meal, if he very much desires as such.”  


“And I suppose you’re a gentleman,” Eggsy says, smiling himself. Harry does cut the image of a gentleman- debonair to a fault, hair styled with pomade and god knows how many hair products to maintain a wave that he simply shouldn’t be able to maintain at that age, suit and tie still in place despite the hour of the day. If anyone could call himself a gentleman and not appear very much as an ignorant, arrogant pillock, it would be Harry, who very much wore the veneer of a gentleman like a second skin.  


“It would be the height of arrogance to say so,” Harry says grandly, “but if you are calling me as such, then of course I accept.”  


“You’re full of shit,” Eggsy snorts, and then embarrasses himself promptly afterwards by yawning so jawbreakingly wide it brings tears into his eyes. Harry’s eyes soften and it makes his crows’ feet stand out- which just increases his attractiveness even further, how is that even _fair _Eggsy’s heart wasn’t built for this- while he draws his hands away. Without his hands cradling Eggsy’s own, Eggsy suddenly feels slightly cold and bereft, which is ridiculous because Harry’s hands weren’t even that warm, nor is the car remotely freezing at all.  
__

____

“Get some rest,” Harry says softly. “It’s still half an hour more to your apartment.”  


“At the rate this traffic is going,” Kay suddenly pipes up from the front, making Eggsy start because he’d completely forgotten he and Harry weren’t the only ones in the car, “it will be one more hour.” She turns and gestures towards the leather seat Eggsy’s leaning against. “Plenty of time for you to get some shut-eye.”  


Normally Eggsy would argue- say he ain’t that tired, that he’ll be okay in a bit. But both Kay and Harry are right- Eggsy feels like he could conk out for a good few hours. He knows why, too- the torn up contract and the added security measures had been on his mind the whole morning, and then after that disastrous meeting he had stressed out unnecessarily over Chester King’s plan of shelving half of Kingsman’s artists which meant rehearsing and rehearsing the song he had been working on-  


“Okay,” Eggsy says out loud, instead. “Wake me up when we reach, will you?”  


“Of course,” Harry says. His fingers on his right knee stretch and then curl abortively into a fist, magnetic enough to draw Eggsy’s gaze for a moment. “I won’t princess carry you into the house, I’m not that kind of bodyguard.”  


Eggsy goes to sleep thinking that Harry’s certain sense of humour takes quite a bit of getting used to.  


*  


Right after Eggsy had been first introduced to Harry and he had stormed off to his bedroom in a huff, he had decided to call his mother to tell her that he was perfectly fine after the disaster that was the Grammy’s pre-party.  


His mother, predictably, had started screaming the minute he had given her a call. Michelle Unwin on the best of days wasn’t much of a patient woman, and with the horror of hearing about the shooting through a news reporting rather than her own son leading her to form the worst of conclusions, she had been in full on nail biting panic when Eggsy had finally called. “ _Eggsy _, oh my god, are you okay- I’ve been absolutely worried _sick _-”  
____

_____ _

Clutching onto his phone, Eggsy’s eyes had widened as he’d recognized the all too familiar, tell-tale signs of her voice choking up right signaling the start of some pretty heavy waterworks, and had thus moved quickly to rectify the situation before it got out of hand. “Oh come on, Mum- none of that now-”  


“Why didn’t you inform me sooner? I was worried _sick _, Eggsy, do you realise that?” his mum had cried over the phone. “And I heard all of it live on BBC- oh god- are you _quite _sure you’re okay? Absolutely awful, all this over an affair-”  
____

_____ _

“I’m quite sure, Mum,” Eggsy had said over the phone patiently. “Fit as a fiddle, me is.”  


“Then why didn’t you just tell me?” Her tone, then, had turned demanding and harsh, even with the threat of tears underscoring it. It’s a shift in tone Eggsy’s well familiar with, and he had swallowed, something in the back of his throat feeling bitter. “Anything, Eggsy- a call, or a text-”  


“I was busy, Mum,” Eggsy had said, trying to keep his voice level and patient. “I had to wait to give an eyewitness account-”  


“Then why not once you’d reached home?” his mum had countered, her tone bordering on frantic. “God, when I’d heard that shots had been fired, I was absolutely scared. I had to hear about this through fucking BBC, Eggsy, turned on the TV for a bit of the evening show only to hear that my baby boy’s in danger-”  


_It’s only baby boy when I’m about to die, _Eggsy had thought maliciously, before abruptly squeezing his eyes shut and instantly scolding himself. The stress of the past two days must have really gotten to him, to make him act like such a dickhead. Of course he’s all manners of frustrated but that’s no reason to take it out on his mum, who’s only worried.  
__

____

“Mum, I came home late yesterday,” he had groaned instead. “Would you rather I called you and then pass flat out?”  


“Don’t give me cheek,” his mum had snapped, before sighing an earth shatteringly loud and heavy sigh. “I just- I don’t want to lose you, my little Eggsy.”  


Eggsy had smiled, then. His nickname had come round because when he was three he had upended a whole carton of eggs on himself- his Da had simply laughed and exclaimed, “You seem to have gotten yourself a little Eggsy!” before picking him up. Ever since then, he had responded to Eggsy and only Eggsy- he could still remember when his mum or his Da would call him their little Eggsy, his mum doing so with a rueful smile like she’d known and dreaded the fact that her husband would give such an awful nickname. After Lee’s death, the number of smiles and the number of times she would call him her little Eggsy had dwindled down to nearly zero- and only after the restraining order against Dean had she finally started using that endearment again.  


“You won’t lose me, Mum,” Eggsy had replied softly, to which his mum had made a non-committal sound. After that, they had talked for a bit during which Eggsy convinced his mum to keep to her original schedule and stay in Scotland for two more days. Or at least, he had thought he had convinced her, but apparently not, judging by the red Subaru parked in the driveway beneath the apartment building. Harry had woken him up with a gentle shake to his shoulder and then gestured out the window, asking, “Expecting anyone?”  


“It’s my mum’s car,” Eggsy says tiredly, as he unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. Kay and Harry do so too, the former looking worried as she eyes the car while Harry trains his eyes in an almost unerring focus on Eggsy. Ector pulls the car out of the driveway- probably to the apartment where Harry and the two of them are currently staying at. “She was supposed to be in Scotland, but I suppose she decided to get back early.”  


“Are you sure?” Kay asks, frowning. Indian take out in one hand- which she had adamantly refused Eggsy’s help in carrying- she peers at the plate of his mum’s car. “Plates match, but it could be fabricated.”  


“You know my mum’s license-you know what, it doesn’t matter. You are being way too paranoid about this, I’m sure it’s perfectly safe,” Eggsy fumes, before turning on his heels huffily and making his way over to the lift. He soon, however, finds his way stopped by way of Harry’s hand, which places dead centre on his chest before pushing him back slightly. “Kay and I will go first, followed by you,” Harry intones. “Just in case.”  


“Fine,” Eggsy says, and then mockingly repeats, “just in case, then.” It’s to get a rise out of the stoic man, obviously- unfortunately, Harry remains as unruffled as ever, simply quirking one eyebrow before making long, purposeful strides over to the lift, Eggsy cursing as he hurries to catch up.  


When they enter the apartment, the smell of spaghetti bolognese hits Eggsy- his mum must have decided to cook. As soon as he kicks off his shoes a small body comes barreling down the hallway and into his legs, knocking painfully into them with all the force of a sledgehammer. “Eggy, Eggy, Eggy!” Daisy shrieks, jumping on his foot while clad in a pair of Elsa jammies. Her hair is neatly done up in an adorable pair of pigtails, and Kay looks stunned upon seeing her, her grey eyes going comically wide. Bodyguards must not have much time for kids, he muses amusedly as he picks Daisy up, settling her on his hip. Harry, after sparing both of them a glance that while brief settles over Eggsy’s skin like mist from rain, goes forward to do a cursory sweep of each room.  


“Dais,” Eggsy says, bouncing her on his hip slightly as she stares at a still shell-shocked Kay with wide eyes, “this is your big brother’s friend, Miss Kay. Say hello, Daisy.”  


“’Ello,” Daisy mutters, before hiding her face in his neck. The move, inexorably shy, seems to bring Kay out of whatever befuddled funk she had gone into and she smiles at her, moving her free hand tentatively to rest over Daisy’s left curled fist.  


“She’s a shy one,” Eggsy explains, trying to coax Daisy out of her shell again. From the look of it, Kay doesn’t mind- she seems enamoured with Daisy, a small smile playing at her lips as she shot Daisy a grin once Daisy peeked out again. Harry may run hot and cold intermittently, but Kay’s been alright so far, and Eggsy briefly regrets his snippy mood in the driveway of the apartment complex.  


“How old is she?” Kay asks. “I’m an only child and single to boot- I don’t have much experience with kids, I’m afraid.”  


“She turns three this winter,” Eggsy says proudly. “I got the good end of the lot with her, she rarely gives me any trouble. Don’t you, my lil’ flower?” At the adage, Daisy giggles and Kay smiles again, saying, “she’s sweet.”  


Abruptly, Eggsy hears his mother shriek, “Oh my goodness, who are you?” and then realizes that he’d been so caught up in Daisy that he’d completely forgotten to tell Harry that he _hadn’t _told his mum yet about the whole bodyguard arrangement. “Fuck,” he hisses, rushing to the kitchen where the shriek had come from, Kay tailing behind him.  
__

____

He arrives there to catch the tail end of “I’m his bodyguard- has he not informed you?”, socked feet slipping slightly on the tiled floors, Daisy clutched tight in his arms. Michelle’s staring at Harry, mouth slightly open as her hands uselessly clench at the table, Daisy’s dinner on the counter. “No,” she says, voice distant in a way it usually gets when her mind is clearly racing a mile a minute, Eggsy wincing as she does so. “No, I- I hadn’t been told.”  


“It’s nothing, Mum,” Eggsy says from the doorway. When her eyes snap over to him, narrowed in a way that’s meant to make him spill his guts as soon as possible, he elaborates, “It’s just a precaution in case something like the shooting happens again. Nothing serious.”  


His mother’s eyes flit over to Harry again, and back. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”  


“Why are you back?” Eggsy counters, placing Daisy on the counter where she wobbles a bit before righting herself and giving Eggsy a big, beaming grin. “Didn’t you have two more days with Gran in Scotland?”  


“How on earth could you have expected me to stay in Scotland?” Michelle retorts indignantly. “My own son in danger and you honestly expect me to continue my vacation-”  


“It wasn’t a vacation, Mum, you were paying Gran a visit,” Eggsy returns exasperatedly, gesturing for Kay to put the takeout bags on the counter. She does so, sending Michelle an uncertain glance. “You know she misses Daisy.” In fact, his Gran, a lovely kind woman who absolutely dotes on everyone she loves, would probably be missing him too- he really ought to give her a call.  


“So, is this a permanent arrangement?” Michelle asks Harry instead, fingers drumming nervously on the tabletop. In their bespoke suits both Harry and Kay look worlds apart, fashionable and elegant in a rich man’s world. Michelle, in contrast, is clad in a pink band shirt that’s seen better days and cuffed jeans- she’d probably thrown them on in a beat, too concerned about Eggsy to give a damn about how she had looked. It makes something in Eggsy’s chest ache fiercely- both the sentiment, and the disparity.  


“I’m your son’s bodyguard for as long as he wants me to be,” Harry says genially, and then nods his head towards the spaghetti bolognese. “Need help setting the table?”  


Michelle’s eyes widen comically to the size of huge saucers. She had probably expected Harry to be a bit of a prick, what with the million-dollar suit and all. Eggsy, biting the inside of his cheek to curb his laughter, says, “Harry, you don’t have to. There, you and Kay have a seat and we’ll get this set up in a jiffy-”  


“Nonsense,” Harry says imperiously. “I’m sure two extra sets of hands will be of help. Where are the plates? I’ll wash them and set them out for dinner.”  


“Harry, I’m serious,” Eggsy argues- futilely, he suspects, seeing the look of abject stubbornness on Harry’s face- grabbing a few plates. “Go and have a seat- talk bodyguardly things or whatever it is you do in your free time.”  


Harry, clearly not listening, crowds in Eggsy’s personal space and helps him start to wash the dishes. It doesn’t improve things any- the heat radiating off Harry and his woodsy scent, subtle enough to avoid overwhelming unfortunate victims but present enough to make an impression, makes it very hard for Eggsy to think. _“Harry,” _Eggsy huffs, trying to wrest control back from the fast spiraling situation- ask him a week ago if he’d thought he would ever be concerned with an overzealous, overprotective and definitely over-attractive bodyguard and he would probably have had a great big laugh but now the joke’s definitely on him for never thinking of that as a possibility.  
__

____

“Stop resisting, Eggsy, it’s in his nature to be helpful,” Kay calls out cheerfully, and then tells Michelle, “I’ll help you with the fruits, Ms Unwin. Say, that’s a lovely sauce you used for the spaghetti- is it tomato?”  


Harry ducks his head low, saying, in a voice that has no right to be as alluring as it is, “ _Yes _, Eggsy, it is in my nature to be helpful.” His hands, slick with water, dry off the plates expertly as Eggsy hands it to him and at the words, Eggsy briefly closes his eyes and prays that the blush doesn’t give away as much as it probably does.  
__

____

Helpful, indeed.  


*  


Much later, when they’re done with dinner, Eggsy heads out to the balcony with Harry obviously in tow, Kay conversing in low tones with Michelle while still having her eyes carefully trained on both of them. Kay had revealed during dinner that she had wanted to be a chemist when young, which had piqued Michelle’s interest- before she had dropped out of university after getting pregnant with Eggsy, she had been in training to become a pharmacist. The two had quickly bonded over talk about career options in that field that had gone completely over Eggsy’s head.  


The balcony, situated beside the drawing room, is something of Eggsy’s pride and joy in the whole apartment. Ryan, who’d always had an artistic eye, had come in to help Eggsy make it into something homely and comfortable, with two soft armchairs outfitted with throw pillows and cushions, a tiny rattan wood table unable to hold anything more than a simple lamp, and potted begonia plants hanging from the ceiling- artificial, because Eggsy doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of a living thing that isn’t his mum or Daisy. Eggsy sits himself in one of the armchairs, can of beer in his hand, while Harry elects to stand, hand in his pocket while he looks out across the neighbourhood. It isn’t much of a scenic view, but the winding cobbled roads between the apartment complexes do make for a rather strangely aesthetically pleasing sight.  


“You said you decorated this house yourself?” Harry asks, looking back at him. Eggsy smiles, nodding his head. “Yeah, most of it- this balcony, however, has a bit of my friend Ryan’s touch.”  


“It’s clear enough,” Harry says, smirking a little. “This balcony doesn’t have the- Bohemian chic vibe the rest of the house seems to have going on.”  
“Oi, don’t knock it,” Eggsy says, glaring. “It’s pretty enough, innit?”  


“Of course it is, my apologies,” Harry retorts, not sounding very apologetic, “though that massive painting of a pug-”  


“I always wanted a pug but never had the money for it,” Eggsy says, shrugging. Then he frowns, adding, “Now I have the money but never the time for it.” When life gives you gold, it takes away the roses. Eggsy’s not greedy by nature but sometimes he misses the days he could run out to the park beside the estates and relax in his favourite spot surrounded by the seclusion of trees and strategically placed park benches, without the threat of paps on his back.  


“The price of success, I’m afraid,” Harry says, very wisely. He abandons his spot by the ledge of the balcony and approaches the armchair beside Eggsy, folding himself into it with all the grace of a dancer- or a capoeira fighter. The latter was probably more likely for someone like Harry.  


“Other prices too, like someone trying to psych you out of the race,” Eggsy points out dryly.  


“Or someone trying to kill you,” Harry says reproachfully, steepling his fingers and looking at Eggsy severely. “I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why you’re so dead set against the possibility of someone wanting you out of the picture enough to kill you.”  


“Because I’m not _that _important,” Eggsy says exasperatedly. Honestly- a smart man like Harry Hart, and he couldn’t figure out why Eggsy absolutely refused to register the very idea of someone being genuinely out for his blood. “Singers rise and fall. This isn’t a bloodthirsty industry.”  
__

____

“You’re new,” Harry says dismissively. Instantly, Eggsy straightens up, beer sloshing in his can, about to hiss like a cat at the condescension in each of Harry’s limbs when Harry, in turn, waves at him to settle down. “Relax, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that the worst of the lot you’ve met is dear old Chester King and his nephew. There are far worse, my dear boy, than the King family and his ilk.” His sentence ends slightly bitterly, like he’s speaking from experience.  


“Like what?” Eggsy asks, his curiosity winning out over his ire. He sets the can on the table, leaning towards Harry.  


Harry, too, leans forward- at this close, Eggsy can almost count the little flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “Like your friend James Spencer, for example,” he confesses, like a secret meant to be shared only between them. “ _He’s _not one,” he hastens to say at Eggsy’s expression. “But at the start of his career, he had an assassin set on him by a particularly catty old singer by the name of Victoria White- all because she was convinced he was stealing every single one of her lyrics kept in a little black diary under her bed.”  
__

____

“James never told me!” Eggsy gasps- who knew the funny, charming singer did have to deal with a fucking assassin, of all things. “Is he- I mean I know he’s all right now, but was he okay after that?”  


“Oh yes,” Harry says, waving a hand about, “Victoria White was very much correct in that someone was stealing her lyrics- however, that someone was in fact, her husband, a manager for some records company I forget the name of. Something about being upset his wife was able to write songs better than those under his charge. She called off the assassin- but not before that assassin nearly managed to cut James in two.”  


“Yikes,” Eggsy mutters, slightly horrified.  


“So you see,” Harry concludes, “demons very much exist in your industry. You just haven’t met them yet- and lord knows I hope you never do.”  


“You could be wrong,” Eggsy points out, “and I could be the butt of a huge, dumb prank.”  


“Possible, but unlikely,” Harry says confidently. “I’m never wrong.”  


“If your ego got any bigger,” Eggsy says, unwilling to admit that the show of confidence actually does something for him, “you wouldn’t be able to fit on this balcony.”  


“Maybe so,” Harry allows, laughing. They sit in companiable silence, Eggsy sipping from his can of beer before Harry delicately asks, “Is- I didn’t want to presume, but is your father-”  


He doesn’t finish the sentence, looking at Eggsy expectantly, and Eggsy is sort of glad he didn’t finish it. He shakes his head. “My father died when I was eight,” Eggsy says ruefully. “Out on a routine tour in Afghanistan, protected his entire squad from an undiscovered IED by throwing himself on it.” They’d gotten an army pension too, but in the wake of her grief Michelle had blown it all on drugs, alcohol, Eggsy’s school and gymnastic fees- that’s when Dean had come in. He had been a guaranteed source of income for the Unwins at first, until he’d shown his true colours and revealed himself to be one of those running the drug ring that had the estate Eggsy and Michelle were living in under its grasp.  


“My most sincere condolences, my dear boy,” Harry says apologetically, and the most ruddy thing is that he probably means it too, the posh idiot.  


“Daisy’s father- Dean Baker- is an absolute prick. World class abusive arsehole- but you probably know this too,” Eggsy says suspiciously, “given you already knew my mother’s license plate number.”  


“The car of which you gave to her on her birthday,” Harry says, and when Eggsy raises an eyebrow, smiles and continues, “that wasn’t on the records, I made an educated guess. There are layers to people, relationships, events- a record only covers so much.”  


That’s dangerous, Eggsy faintly thinks. Harry’s gorgeous, impossibly so, and brilliant and hilarious to boot. Every word he utters is making Eggsy fall harder and harder and the day he hits the asphalt is the day Harry will look at him with disgust and tell him he is only a client. Harry infuriates and enthralls Eggsy in one, and he knows Harry’s asking him these probing questions only to dig to the very truth of his client, but he can’t help but enjoy the fall.  


“Want to know that much about me, do you?” Eggsy jokes instead, and like clockwork, the smile slides off Harry’s face and he leans back, straightening up.  


“I’m simply getting to know my client,” Harry says impassively, and Eggsy can practically see the walls forming around him again. “If I’m to protect you properly-”  


“You take your job very seriously,” Eggsy says, leaning away too. The mood’s gone, now- all Eggsy feels is irritation and regret. It’s truly amazing, how fast Harry could make Eggsy vacillate between emotiions.  


“-I need to know what’s coming,” Harry continues, his voice steely. “Merlin considered every angle from which your would be attacker-”  


“Prankster, you mean.”  


“-may be coming from, except for one.” Harry looks straight at him, and this time, his eyes are piercing and sharp. It’s a move designed purely to make Eggsy spill his guts.  


Tough luck, Eggsy thinks. Eggsy’s never grassed anyone up, and he’ll not do so now.  


“Was there anything in your past, anyone who had it out for you, who may be sending the notes?” Harry asks, and Eggsy scoffs instantly.  


“Oh, come off it,” Eggsy says. “You think someone I know in the estates sent those threats? Bruv, half the people there can’t give less of a shit about me, they have their own shit to worry about.”  


“Eggsy,” Harry says, and there’s a tone of finality to his voice. Like he knows that Eggsy is just fucking about, avoiding the question. “Is there anything in your past that may be pertinent to the case?”  


Months later, Eggsy will look back at this moment and know it was cowardice that had prevented him from telling the truth. Cowardice, because he was scared of judgement and scorn from Harry. A stupid thing to be scared of from the one person supposed to protect you, but he’d needed an out- and the wording of the question had allowed him that. What had happened- there was no use in unearthing it. It needed to stay buried. If lying by omission was what was needed for Eggsy to keep his own state of mind intact then by God, Eggsy will lie.  


So he looks back, and he lies.  


“There is nothing in my past pertinent to the case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the plot thickens! a few end notes:  
> 1) I do gotta state that this is an eggsy-centric story- while harry does feature prominently, I only have two interludes from his point of view planned for him, and i'm not going to delve much into his past.   
> 2) it may seem slightly ridiculous that eggsy is falling for harry so fast but then again, this is a work of fiction  
> 3) big thanks to DemonicSymphony, the italicization problem is fixed!
> 
> as always, leave a comment and/or kudos below if you liked this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for references to physical child abuse and panic attacks

23 February 2014, 3:00 pm

They keep a sharp lookout, but for the next five days nothing arrives- no threats or mysterious boxes signed by X. Eggsy feels triumphant and vindictive enough to tell an unconvinced Merlin “I told you so!” repeatedly, until Roxy tells him to shut up. X must have seen his indifferent reaction to the shredded up contract, he reasons to Harry, and flocked off to scare bigger fish, having deemed him entirely unworthy of being persuaded to fear him- or her.

“I think they’re just biding their time,” Harry had replied, frowning. He’d been clad in green tartan pants and a velvet jacket that had resulted in heads turning on the sidewalk. “When we get our guard down-”

“That’s what you said about the fake blood,” Eggsy had said, “so by your logic, he would’ve struck right after that. But he hasn’t yet! Therefore, you were wrong and I was right, admit it.”

Harry had simply rolled his eyes in response.

Wednesday afternoon finds them in Taco Bell, having lunch. Eggsy had been slaving away the whole morning, recording and re-recording the third song on his next album which Merlin has been nitpicking every detail of. Eggsy’s sung in so many notes he’s resorted to keeping two litre bottles of honey lemon in his backpack just to keep his voice somewhat intact. Right now, he’s starving and ready to dig in his food with Harry, whom he’d convinced to have lunch with him.

“You can keep watch and eat at the same time, can’t you?” Eggsy had begged, trying on his patented puppy eyes for effect. They barely work on anyone, but surprisingly enough Harry had flushed and relented.

“The song today,” Harry prompts, as Eggsy impatiently drums his fingers on the table. “What is it about? Merlin seems to be grilling you enough about it.”

 _“Little Flowers,”_ Eggsy says, grinning. “It’s about Daisy. You know, I never- this sounds horrible, but I never wanted her to be born, at first. I yelled at Mum for making a mistake when I found out. Quit the marines, rushing home and everything.” That argument had been one of those fights- the ones that start to drive a wedge between you and your loved ones. Acerbic, cruel- cutting things had been said because if Eggsy knew one thing, it was that he and his mum knew to hit where it hurt most.

“Naturally,” Harry says agreeably. “Your stepfather was a bit of a horror- not to mention the circumstances.” It’s a delicate way to say _you were too broke for a baby_ and his awkwardness just makes him all the more adorable for Eggsy. _Focus, Eggsy._

“But when I held her in my arms the first time, I fell in love with her right from the start. Bluest eyes I’d ever seen- she gets that from Mum. She’s everything,” Eggsy says, smiling softly. Nothing more than a squalling, wailing, mass of wrinkled flesh at birth but when she had been placed in Eggsy’s arms- Dean had conveniently “forgotten” to show up, the absolute fuckface- Eggsy had never seen anything more beautiful. “Little Flowers is about that- what I felt when I held her for the first time, and every feeling I’ve felt for her since then.”

Harry’s been avidly hanging onto his every word, and at the last bit, his face softens into a warm smile that makes Eggsy feel all sorts of dangerous, dangerous things. It’s a chain reaction- his eyes get lighter, the crinkles around them make his edges feel less harsh and his whole visage becomes all that more attractive.

“You’re a good big brother,” Harry says. “Most guys I know your age won’t give a shit.”

“Maybe because all the guys my age you know are self-entitled pricks,” Eggsy offers. Harry’s told him enough horror stories about his clients for him to know that majority of the toughest clientele were white, rich and male to boot. One of them had a father who had been unwilling to fill Harry’s paycheck until Harry personally murdered every single member of the apparent gang mob hell bent on melting the skin off his son- “his words, not mine,” Harry had said, while Eggsy had descended into peals of laughter.

“That may be true, but- dear god, what did you order?” Harry asks, scandalized.

“An XXL Grilled Stufft Burrito,” Eggsy says proudly, as the server drops it off on his table along with a chicken quesadilla for Harry. He catches Harry’s incredulous eye and says defensively, “I’m starving, alright? All you did was sit and stare at me while I personally destroyed my throat.”

“No, no, of course, just-” Harry’s smirking, like he knows what he’s about to say next is probably going to immensely offend Eggsy. “I didn’t realise that such a small body can hold that much food.”

“Oi- don’t call me short, you prick!”

They make small talk as they eat, Harry watchfully keeping one eye out as Eggsy inanely rambles on about the kind of movies he likes to watch. The thing about Harry is that he has a frightfully eidetic memory; Eggsy could casually mention something and then forget all about it but Harry, the bugger, would definitely remember it and bring it up at an inopportune moment. Eggsy’s still struggling to forgive him for the time he told Merlin that Eggsy’d always wondered what he would look like with a flower crown on his bald head, which Eggsy had told Harry _in confidence._

“Daisy fucking loves Despicable Me,” Eggsy rambles, as Harry listens while intermittently looking out the window. “Loves the minions and everything. Of course, I prefer her minions' phase to the Frozen one, you know? It’s a sweet movie, but there’s only so much renditions of _Let It Go_ I can take.”

“Never tried attempting a cover of it?” Harry says, lips briefly twitching.

“Heavens, no!” Eggsy says, appalled. “Daisy sings it enough for me. Not that I hate all animation movies, mind,” he adds hastily, “I love them. All of Pixar’s stuff- I cried so hard watching Brave.”

"I was never a big animation fan,” Harry says, daintily picking apart his quesadilla. Most people make a mess eating quesadillas, but not Harry- he’s the picture of elegance carefully making sure none of the cheese ends up staining his pants. “Always more for rom coms. I loved Notting Hill.”

“You don’t say,” Eggsy says, staring at him a little disbelievingly. He almost can’t believe his ears- Harry Hart, a lover of mushy romantic crap? The man was always so full of surprises. “You, crying at Lifetime movies?”

“I didn’t say Lifetime movies,” Harry says, sniffing. “Pretty Woman is hardly a Lifetime movie. I rather always loved the story of rags to riches, and the one loving them despite it all.” At Eggsy’s nonplussed look, he asks, “Pretty Woman? Julia Roberts?"

“I know her, pretty bird,” Eggsy says, “but not Pretty Woman, no.” Eggsy hadn’t grown up on mushy rom coms- he’d grown up on spy films and action films. Things like Jack Bauer and James Bond; in a world wrecked by his Da’s death, he hadn’t had the time nor the taste for old school romance.

“What about Nikita?” Harry asks, looking very shocked at Eggsy’s apparent lack of taste. “Trading Places?”

Eggsy shrugs, delighting in Harry’s look of aghast horror. “We’ll have to fix that soon, then,” Harry says firmly, like it is a definite thing set in stone- he and Eggsy sitting with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s binge watching old romance movies. “Those old movies were so magnetic- telling me that the lack of a silver spoon may set some on a certain path, but they needn’t stay on it.”

“Always hope for everyone, eh?” Eggsy says, grinning.

“If you can learn and adapt, you can transform,” Harry says, and then suddenly, turning pink and ducking his head bashfully, says, “that’s what I used to think, anyway, watching those movies.”

Eggsy stares at him for a while, middle aged man ducking his head embarrassedly into his quesadilla after getting a little too into romantic movies. The image is surprisingly dorkish and endearing, making a sphere of warmth bloom in his chest and in his head. It’s what probably prompts his next bout of insanity.

“Describes me a little, don’t you think?” Eggsy blurts out, then immediately wants to bury his face into his own burrito too. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“What does?” Harry, who can’t let things go, asks. Eggsy winces and then decides to carry on anyway- he’s on this train, might as well kill himself while on it.

“You know- I was on a one-way track headed for disaster before Roxy found me. Knee deep in petty crime and Dean’s shit, she was pretty much my lifeguard.” Eggsy swallows, feeling revealingly vulnerable under Harry’s warm brown eyes, which grow suddenly too understanding and kind for him to take.

“What I do understand is that it often takes our own self to transform, and you, dear boy, are worlds away than who you probably were when Roxy found you.” Harry’s words are heartwarming, and the look of adoring understanding on his face, even more so. He’d been casting careful looks towards their surroundings the whole time but in that moment he is Eggsy’s and Eggsy’s alone, focusing his eyes on him so ardently that Eggsy rather feels like the sun. Not to mention _dear boy_ \- it makes his stomach flip in an all too embarrassing way.

“Sort of like in My Fair Lady, then. I’m Eliza Dolittle,” Eggsy says, smiling softly at Harry’s look of impressed admiration, as he polishes off the last of his burrito. “Wouldn’t that make Kingsman my Henry Higgins?”

“Probably, but the implication that dear old Chester King is a part of that makes me want to hurl this quesadilla back up,” Harry says dryly, to which Eggsy snorts. His eyes drift away and Eggsy feels the moment slip by, like sand beneath his fingers- hopeless to hold on to. “By the way, who did you tell about coming here to have lunch?”

“Just Roxy, Ector and Kay,” Eggsy says, confused. “Merlin had been busy, and James is having his own lunch with Percival in town.” He stares at Harry’s face, stiff with tension. Gone is the softness that had come from talking about movies and such- this is his bodyguard, lovely in his unrelenting protectiveness. “Why, what’s the matter?”

“Paparazzi- a whole ton of it,” Harry says tensely, gesturing out the window with his head. Eggsy turns his head to look out and sure enough, the pavement outside has started to fill to the brim with photographers and fans. At Eggsy turning his head, the murmur rises to a deafening roar as flashes start to go off and wincing, Eggsy turns his head back to his drink. What does it say about him, that he’d been so immersed talking about stupid movies with Harry that he’d completely missed the crowd slowly building outside to a veritable mob?

“Finish your drink, we’ll head out,” Harry says tersely, as Eggsy slurps the last bit of the coke. As soon as the cup hits the table Harry is up, forcing Eggsy to stand up as well, his stomach swooping at the sudden tension between them now. At the entrance, Eggsy briefly apologises to a stray waiter who rolls her eyes, saying, “Not to worry- this is the most action we’ve seen in weeks.”

*

This particular song and dance is one that Eggsy is intimately familiar with- the one of wading through a tight crowd with photographers, reporters and fans alike grabbing at every section of his hair, clothes and skin, asking him intrusive questions and nearly blinding him with their cameras. The first time it had happened was about two weeks after Eggsy had released his first single- Roxy had guided him through and after being safely ensconced within the cool lift lobby of the Kingsman building, treated him to an impromptu crash course on How To Deal With Crowds.

“Do not stop for pictures, do not stop for autographs, and do not answer any questions,” Roxy had instructed, face stern. “You simply won’t have the time nor energy, trust me. Keep your head down, power through and most importantly, do not react to anything they may shout at you. Crowds are unruly at best and dangerous at worst- we do not want you to die in the process.”

“Has anyone actually died before?” Eggsy had asked, terrified, only to be the recipient of a rather grim look.

Now, he keeps his head low and his eyes fixed on his shoes, letting Harry guide the way to the car by way of a strong, vice-like grip on his bicep. The screams going off in his ear are damn near deafening and definitely causing his blood pressure and temper to rise. He powers on anyway, breathing through his mouth and keeping step with Harry’s long, purposeful strides.

“Eggsy, Eggsy, this way please!”

“Eggsy, what is your answer to Charlie Hesketh’s claims that your songs are a copy of his own?”

“Eggsy, when can you give us a date for the release of your next album?”

“I love you, Eggsy!”

At that last bit, Eggsy tries hard to control his wince- he’s always felt awfully guilty about ignoring fans in a mob like this. What could he do, though- let the remaining vultures of reporters devour him as he stopped to attend to one adoring fan? That had been a lesson hard-learnt in the past, and very thoroughly beaten into him by Roxy. As though Harry knows what he is thinking about, his grip on Eggsy’s bicep tightens and he steers him even more forcefully towards their car.

After what seems like an age, they finally reach the car. That’s when it happens- just as Harry pulls open the passenger door, ushering Eggsy in with a pinched look on his face, he hears the shout clear as day.

It’s a man’s voice, gravelly but loud. “Eggsy,” the voice shouts, from deep within the crowd, “why did you leave Brandon behind? He didn’t deserve it- why did you leave him behind?”

Eggsy’s heart stutters to a chilling stop. He pauses, ignoring Harry’s snarl of “What are you waiting for, get in!” and turns behind. His head throbs in counterpoint to his heart, which is hammering a mile a minute, as the question resounds and reverberates in his head. Going round and round and round, like a swinging pendulum accelerated to the speed of a sports car- _why did you leave him behind? Why did you leave him behind?_

His hands are actually trembling, shaking like leaves in the wind as he turns behind and yells, “Who was that?” The sea of reporters and fans and photographers stare back at him, confused. There’s a lady in the front, in a black pixie cut and trousers. Another in the back, with long flowing pink hair and in a sundress. A male reporter in cuffed jeans, his fellow photographer in a red sweatshirt. There is absolutely no one he recognizes, and no one who should know about Brandon.

“Who asked me about Brandon?” Eggsy yells, frustratingly, and the cameras start clicking again. No one answers, and everyone continues to ask fucking inane, useless questions about his jeans, new album, about Charlie and Roxy. It’s like he’s yelling into the void, the words getting swallowed up into nothingness. Maybe he had imagined it all, maybe it was just his overheated, useless brain cooking up hallucinations of the hearing variety, maybe he was going out of his mind- but no. He knows someone had shouted that as well as he knows his last name is Unwin- someone in that crowd knew about Brandon. Brandon, a secret he’d long buried within his past-

Harry abruptly loses patience with him and pushes him into the passenger seat. He goes willingly, his body made of nothing but rubbery bones, and sits in the leather seat, feeing numb to the core and a strange tingling sensation in his throat. His heart’s still going off a mile a minute, hammering away in his ears like an over enthusiastic drummer and he barely notices when Harry throws himself into the driver’s seat and speeds away, leaving the crowd in his proverbial dust.

“Care to tell me what the fuck that was about?” Harry asks, voice deceptively steady. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “What on earth could have possessed you to stop like that? A minute later, Eggsy, and you would have been absolutely devoured by the crowd.”

Instead of responding, Eggsy looks out the window and back at the crowd. A little ways off from the crowd, a lone, tall figure stands. As Eggsy looks, the figure raises his hand and waves.

“Eggsy, are you listening?” Harry demands, swerving abruptly to avoid hitting a car in front. Eggsy looks back again- the figure has vanished.

“Yes, yes, I am,” Eggsy says distantly, turning back in front again. His heart has decided to calm down but in its wake he feels vaguely weak and nauseous, rather like he wants to lie down and sleep for a decade. “Sorry, I just- I had heard something, that’s why I stopped.”

Harry looks askance at him, and then curses. “You’re all pale- there’s water there, drink from it.”

“No thanks,” Eggsy says weakly. Worming his hands around himself and hugging himself tightly, he stares blankly up ahead. He hadn’t left Brandon behind. He had tried his best. Brandon had tried his best. God knows he would give anything for Brandon-

The car screeches to a halt, and Eggsy starts, realizing they are already in the parking lot of the Kingsman building. Harry finally unclenches his hands from the steering wheel and sighs, cutting the engine off. In the silence that follows, he runs a hand through his hair tiredly, fringe flopping over his forehead.

“Here,” Harry says, after two seconds has passed. Eggsy looks down to see him holding the water bottle. “Drink from this- I won’t have you collapsing on my watch.”

“I wasn’t gonna faint,” Eggsy grumbles, but drinks from it anyway. The water, cold and tasting vaguely of lemon, slides down his throat and settles uncomfortably in his stomach. He sets the bottle down between his knees and refuses to look at Harry, choosing instead to look straight ahead. There’s a woman pushing a stroller with a two-year-old comfortably nestled inside. A teenager skates past her on a skateboard, clad in a searingly pink Nirvana shirt. Do they know about Brandon, too?

“Back there,” Harry says slowly, “you asked the crowd something. You asked them who asked you about Brandon.”

Eggsy closes his eyes in defeat.

“Eggsy,” Harry asks, too gently, “who’s Brandon?”

Eggsy keeps silent. He knows it’s a stupid thing to do, but Brandon is something better left back in the estates. God, he’d tried so hard but if it was anyone else, they would have left Brandon too. Harry didn’t have to deal with his bullshit, and especially not his Brandon-related bullshit.

“Eggsy.” There’s a definite edge of steel to his voice now. “Eggsy, I need to know.”

“Why?” Eggsy snaps. “It’s not related to the case.”

“We don’t know that,” Harry retorts. Eggsy still refuses to look at him, but even while staring ahead he knows how Harry would look, in his mind’s eye. The crow’s feet around his eyes would be defined, pinched and tired, and his lips would be pressed into a thin line, irate. “And besides that- Eggsy, you froze up and started yelling at the crowd. That’s definitely going to make it into the papers tomorrow.”

“Didn’t know you gave a fuck about my public image,” Eggsy snaps, unclipping the seatbelt. Harry sighs, unclipping his as well.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I meant-”

“Yeah, what did you mean, exactly?” Eggsy hurls back, turning to stare at him. “Did you mean I don’t know how to act like a civil person? Newsflash, Harry, I’ve always been that bit of rough, Kingsman fucking markets me that way-”

“I meant that after you got back from facing the crowd you were pale and trembling,” Harry shoots back, voice tight with anger. His eyes are narrow with irritation and his hand makes an abortive movement, like he’d been about to do something- punch Eggsy, probably. “You were panicking, Eggsy. You were terrified. I never want to see you like that again, scared out of your mind-”

“That’s because you don’t understand, Harry!” Eggsy fairly yells, shoving open the door and heaving himself out. He knows he’s acting irrational, exactly the immature child the papers keep claiming he is, but he can’t help it. Even a mention of Brandon is enough to send all his senses haywire, like he can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t fucking exist. Harry gets out of the car too, a hell of a lot more elegantly than Eggsy had done. He locks the door and then turns to frown at Eggsy. It’s a disappointed, upset frown too- which in turn makes Eggsy even more upset than he already is because for some reason, he abhors the idea of having Harry be disappointed in him.

“Then help me understand, Eggsy,” Harry nearly begs. “Tell me about Brandon.”

“I can’t,” Eggsy chokes out, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. “I want to, but- I can’t.” He feels a lot like crying and won’t that be embarrassing- bawling like a little kid right there in the street in front of the guy he’s fast falling for. He can just imagine the headline of the papers tomorrow. _Rough Upstart Unwin Can Not, In Fact, Carry On._ Maybe TMZ will have another article for him.

“Okay,” Harry says quietly, and at first, Eggsy’s not sure he heard him. He lets his hands fall away from his face, and blinks dumbly at Harry, who’s staring back with a concerned look on his face. “Sorry, come again?”

“I said okay,” Harry says, shrugging. “I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me.”

Eggsy stares at him dumbfounded. “I thought it was- important to the case, or whatever,” he says weakly, his hands hanging awkwardly by his sides. Harry, he’s learnt over the days, is very much the type of man to keep pushing until his way is accepted. The fact that he’s yielded so quickly and so calmly is astounding.

“The case,” Harry scoffs, walking around the car to face Eggsy up close, gripping his shoulders tightly. “Eggsy, your mental health is much more important to me than that. If you’re not ready to share, I’m fine. I’ll wait.” He pauses, and then adds, his voice more firm, “Eggsy, I’ll _always_ wait for you.”

The admission is solid, real, and makes Eggsy’s stomach do a somersault of glee. This is a man, one of the toughest and most stubborn Eggsy’s ever encountered, doubling down on his own misgivings to give Eggsy the benefit of the doubt, to be attentive to Eggsy’s needs, to put Eggsy above his own call to the mission. God, this lovely, lovely man- he wants this man to wait for him. To care for him, to give him everything-

To love him.

He can’t say all that though, without sounding like a fucking lunatic, so instead he gives a watery smile and says, “Harry- thank you.” Eggsy makes sure to channel every single ounce of gratitude he feels into those two words. And when Harry ducks his head bashfully under his gaze, murmuring an embarrassed “It’s no trouble, really,” he knows his utter relief and his utter appreciation for the man standing before him hasn’t gone unheard.

*

13th August 1999, 6:00pm

Eggsy first meets Brandon when he is ten, at his mum’s wedding to Dean. It had been a dour, dry ceremony- Jamal hadn’t been present on account of his father hating Dean’s abusive arse and Ryan had been home sick with the flu, leaving Eggsy within the trappings of his stiff tuxedo and trousers, walking carefully with a blooming bruise on his ribs while Dean’s cronies on the side got louder and drunker. He’d been the ring bearer despite being too old for it, on account of his small stature, and after the ceremony had quietly absconded to the garden to eat cake in depressed silence. He had been sitting there quietly, finished with the cake and absent-mindedly swinging his legs back and forth, when a shadow had fallen over him.

Expecting Dean, he cowers at first, looking up in fright but it’s just another boy his age- scruffy, in an Adidas shirt and jeans with dirty sneakers, awkwardly looking back at him. “All the seats inside are taken,” he says quietly. “Mind if I sit?”

Eggsy shrugs, the fear gone. “Go ‘head.”

The boy sits down then, with a wince. Once seated, he lifts his right leg on the bench with a small groan and rolls up the hem of his jeans. It is then that Eggsy sees it- the skin all around his ankle is red and inflamed.

“You need to go to the doctor,” Eggsy then proclaims, staring at the inflamed ankle. If there were boundaries, Eggsy hadn’t known it then.

“Da won’t bring me,” the boy says with a rueful, sad smile. Eggsy knows that smile, and knows that smile well because it’s the same one he put whenever Ryan or Jamal ask him if he was okay just after he had gotten beat up by Dean. Eggsy swallows, feeling a rush of pity for the boy.

“Follow me,” Eggsy says then, definitively. “I’ll put an ice pack and give you some Paracetamol at home.”

The boy frowns at him. He has nice eyes, Eggsy thinks, a mix of light brown and black like the dark chocolates Eggsy’s neighbor gives him every Monday. “You have the keys to your place?” the boy asks. “You barely look six.”

“I’m _ten_ ,” Eggsy says, frowning. The boy sure is rude. “And I nicked it off my mum ‘cause I was bored. I’m just offerin’ my help- you can take it or leave it.” To emphasize his point, he puffs up his chest and crosses his arm, trying to act imposing- and not like a six-year-old.

Surprisingly enough, the boy breaks into a grin. “Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he says, looking like he might laugh if he wasn’t in great pain right then. “I’ll follow you. How do you know that I need- those things?”

Eggsy doesn’t answer him, choosing to help him walk to their house down the street instead. Once the boy is slapping an ice pack against his hurt ankle, Eggsy says, “I had a sprained ankle too.” He pauses, and adds, “Fell down the stairs.” The tiny, dingy apartment doesn’t, in fact, have any set of stairs at all, and Eggsy can tell from the way the boy’s eyebrows lift that he’d understood what Eggsy’s trying to say.

“I fell too,” the boy says quietly. “Slippery floors.”

“I’m Eggsy,” Eggsy offers. In the darkness of the apartment, the boy smiles wide- his front teeth are big and crooked, absurdly white in the dimness. With his scruffy hair, muddy sneakers, and stupidly wide grin he doesn’t looked all that attractive- quite a bit like an idiot, actually- but something about that toothy smile had made ten-year-old Eggsy’s heart rush.

“I’m Brandon,” the boy says, the dark apartment casting shifting shadows over his face and helpless, Eggsy smiles back.

*

23 February 2014, 7:30 pm

Back in the studio, Eggsy doesn’t have time to tell Merlin about what had happened because Merlin, the slave driver that he is, puts him to work immediately. Either way, here’s a small part of him that doesn’t want to tell either Roxy or Merlin about what had happened- about him screaming at the crowd and then having a near breakdown in Harry’s car. As Merlin puts him to work, he tells himself he’ll tell them at the end of the day. His inner voice is wholly unconvincing, however, and the incident manages to stay at the forefront of his brain while he mindlessly sings the opening bars to Little Flowers.

It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Merlin says, annoyed. Eggsy snaps his mouth shut and the two techies put a stop to the music as well. Roxy stands to the side, her jaw clenched nervously. “Eggsy, what the hell is wrong with you? My dead grandma can sing better than this shite you’re spouting.”

“Then get her in the studio, then,” Eggsy gripes, irritated.

“Don’t be crass,” Merlin retorts, like he hadn’t been crass, first. “No emotion at all- are you sure this song is about Daisy, or Charlie?”

At that, Roxy actually fucking flinches, and Eggsy shoves the mike away. First Brandon, now Merlin being way too acerbic. “What the fuck, Merlin,” Eggsy snaps, suddenly feeling close to tears. “Fucking hell, I’m trying mate-”

“It doesn’t look like you’re trying!” Merlin fairly yells, his face flushed with anger.

“Everyone, take five!” Roxy barks, and the two techies, looking awkward enough, rush out of their seats as if a dog is barking at their heels. Merlin jumps up from the seat too, and storms from the room without a second glance back at Eggsy, slamming the door behind him. Harry’s been standing guard the entire time, and as the door opens for a second Eggsy catches a snapshot of him looking into the studio, bewildered.

When Merlin leaves, there’s silence in the studio before Eggsy pushes the mike further away with his foot and covers his face with his hands. No tears yet, but he’s startlingly close to it.

“Oh, Eggsy,” Roxy says, her voice muffled from outside, and then the door to the recording room opens. The sound of the clip-clop of heels echoes before Eggsy gets a whiff of rose scented perfume from between his fingers. He knows that scent, it’s the one he got Roxy for her birthday about two months back. Roxy had sent him a text a week before her birthday bemoaning the perfume going out of stock and he’d personally contacted the store, asking for one to be shipped to London regardless of any hikes in the price. Roxy may not know him inside out, nor he for Roxy, but they’re close friends all the same and he knows that Roxy’s been able to tell that something is seriously off with him.

He doesn’t look up from his hands, and Roxy embraces him, her arms hugging his head to her stomach. Eggsy breathes in the roses and feels the threat of tears and the lump in his throat slowly start to abate.

“Merlin means well, he’s just been really tensed recently,” Roxy says softly. “Will you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

This, rightly, is the chance for Eggsy to tell her everything that had happened at lunch. It’s the perfect opportunity and she could even help him figure out how to tell Merlin. Roxy will call him an idiot, but she’ll set things to rights- call the papers responsible and give them a thorough tongue-lashing for ambushing her charge, and then eat ice cream with him while they rewatch bad TV movies on Netflix. Except his mouth is frozen- it won’t move, and the words refuse to come out. He shakes his head instead, dropping his hands so they lay awkwardly curled over his knees. He doesn’t open his eyes and look up either because he knows how Roxy will look- her eyebrows drawn together in a disappointed frown, a downward curl to her lips.

“I can’t force you to say what’s wrong,” Roxy says heavily, one hand reaching up to smooth over his head in a repetitive, soothing motion, “but you clearly need more than five minutes to work out whatever it is you’re struggling with. Shall I tell Merlin we’re done for the day?”

Eggsy’s about to protest- in vain, he can tell, because Roxy’s phrased it as a question but what Roxy wants Eggsy gives it to her- when there’s two knocks on the door, quick and short. “Come in!” Roxy yells, as Eggsy draws away from her.

In walks one of the techies who’d been helping Eggsy with the song- Andrew, Eggsy thinks his name was- with Harry on his heels. There’s a crumpled, white envelope clutched tightly in Andrew’s hand, as he heads towards the recording room. Eggsy gestures for him to wait, sliding off the stool and heading out the door with Roxy close behind on his heels.

“Came in the post, Lana says it’s for you,” Andrew explains, casting a wary eye at Harry who’s hovering like a hawk.

“He didn’t let me see it,” Harry says, sniffing.

“It says right there it’s for him, mate, can’t let some bloody minder of his go rooting in other people’s mail-”

“I’m his bodyguard,” Harry says frostily, “and I believe it’s listed as one of my duties to vet anything he receives.”

Before Andrew can retort, Eggsy snatches the envelope from him, opening it haphazardly. “Can’t say it’s too gentlemanly to want to open other people’s mail, bruv,” Eggsy grins, delighting in Harry’s reluctant smile. The grin slips off his face when his hand reaches in the envelope, only to find a single piece of paper inside it. Frowning, he fishes it out and unfurls it, staring at it’s contents.

What’s written on it bloody well makes Eggsy’s spine freeze into a block of ice.

_Why didn’t you answer my question about Brandon? -X_

“Who’s Brandon?” Roxy asks, as she reads it over his shoulder. It’s an innocent statement that abruptly reminds Eggsy that he’s not alone in the room. He looks up, to see Harry looking right back at him, face stricken.

“It mentions Brandon? Eggsy-”

Eggsy stuffs the paper in his back, barely aware of what he’s actually doing. It’s like his consciousness has left his body and some puppeteer from high above is controlling his every movement. Every movement feels robotic, sluggish, horrified- his heart seems to have disappeared completely and any minute now, he’s going to register the very terrible implications that simple piece of paper holds.

“I gotta go,” he mutters, trying to shoulder past Harry. He doesn’t succeed very well- Harry catches hold of his arm, pulling him back. “Eggsy, no-”

He’s so close to shattering into a million pieces that when Harry tries to pull him back, he abruptly snaps. He wrenches his shoulder out of Harry’s grip and yells, “Let me the fuck _GO_ , Harry!” He’s never shouted like that before- certainly not while in polite company, anyway- and watches as Harry, utterly shocked, actually does let go of him.

“Eggsy-”

Eggsy doesn’t wait. Instead, he pushes past all of them, storming out the door, and at the sound of footsteps behind him, breaks out into a flat out run. He doesn’t stop even when he’s out of the building and running down the street, lungs and limbs screaming at him for respite. He doesn’t stop when he passes by Merlin who’s outside texting away on his phone, doesn’t stop when he hears him say a confused, “Eggsy, what-” and doesn’t stop until he’s at the park about ten blocks away from the building.

Then he stops, collapses into the bench, covers his mouth with his hands and screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes, as always:
> 
> 1) this update was slightly late and consequent updates may be irregular as I just started work. that being said, I won't abandon this work, don't worry  
> 2) a flashback narrative has been started in this chapter, relating to Eggsy's past. the flashback will be indicated by the date, and there will be timejumps- in this flashback, eggsy's age is 10. in the next, he'll be 15. 
> 
>  
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter and as always, leave a comment and/or kudos!


	6. Chapter 6

23 February 2014, 8:30 pm  


It takes about half an hour later for someone to find him in the tiny corner of the park, sitting sprawled on the bench. The sky’s already getting dark and there’s no one around- not that there were any in the first place. Eggsy had chosen this spot very carefully after all- secluded as it was no one would be around to have seen Eggsy break down piece by piece for the past half hour. It’s a miracle someone’s already found him out, he thinks as he espies out of his periphery, someone in a tailored suit and oxfords walk over to the bench and sit down on it next to him. Not looking over, he sighs heavily. “Have a tracker on me, Harry?”  


“Not Harry, actually,” Ector says calmly, and Eggsy starts. Looking over, he sees that it is Ector, with his dark skin and large brown eyes. The first time Roxy had seen Ector, she had choked before walking headfirst into a pillar- he had teased her about it for ten straight minutes afterwards.  


“Why didn’t-” he stops, having no idea how to phrase the question in a way that isn’t insensitive. Luckily, Ector seems to know what he’s getting at, snorting before answering, “He didn’t want to overwhelm you. Thought it best to send me.”  


That would make sense to Harry, Eggsy supposes. Ector’s never said more than five words at a time. He’s the type to blend in the background so efficiently people often forgot he was there until he made a sound. Maybe Harry had assumed that Eggsy would be distraught and needed some peace and quiet. He’s not wrong either- Eggsy still doesn’t feel a hundred percent in his head and heart and wouldn’t probably appreciate Harry’s steely scrutiny or his probing questions just yet.  


“Right,” Eggsy says, stretching his legs out. “How did you find me, anyway?”  


“Tracker in your jacket,” Ector says.  


“Seriously? I was kidding, but- a tracker?” Eggsy asks disbelievingly. “Is that legal?”  


“Probably not,” Ector shrugs, “But Arthur was never one for rules.”  


Arthur, right. Eggsy suddenly feels massively uncomfortable with the weight of the tracker on him- what else can a tracker do? Read his vitals, record his dialogue? He pats his own jacket down, asking Ector, “So when did he put this tracker on me?”  


Ector looks at him, his eyes unreadable. Perhaps out of all three bodyguards, Ector unnerved him the most. A pretty face, after all, did not automatically a good person make. “What?” Eggsy says, a little testily.  


Ector reaches over, ignoring Eggsy’s squawk of protect, and plucks the tracker out of the sleeve of his jacket. It’s a tiny, microscopic thing, barely the size of a seed. He rolls it between his fingers a bit, before crushing it into dust between them.  


“He puts a new tracker on you every morning,” Ector continues, blasé and completely indifferent to Eggsy’s look of bewilderment. “All the tracker does is provide him with your location, nothing else. A rather simple make- he could have put more complicated ones on you. Merlin once made him a tracker that monitored a person’s brain activity.”  


Merlin _would _create something as terrifying as that. “Why did you break the thing?” Eggsy asks.  
__

____

“Because I figure you’d appreciate it,” Ector says. “And because Arthur has an endless supply of these things.”

“Thank you,” Eggsy says sincerely. Ector just smiles in response, and plucks out his earpiece, letting it dangle on his clavicle- Eggsy’s not close enough to gauge who is shouting on the earpiece, but he is in fact, close enough to hear a male voice shout through it, tinny and scratchy. He clicks something on the back of his neck, presumably shutting it off because the voice is abruptly cut off. “Are you ready to go back?” he asks.

Eggsy turns back in front, shifting his feet on the floor. It’s getting freezingly cold and Eggsy only has his thin bomber jacket on but the frigid air, for once, is welcome- it helps to clear his head of the earlier panic. “Five more minutes,” Eggsy says.

Ector tips his head back. At this angle Eggsy can see the shadow of stubble adorning his jawline- probably one of the reasons why Roxy had walked into a pillar. If Eggsy wasn’t so stupidly gone on Harry, he might have been awestruck by the sight. For a while, he thinks Ector’s going to let the full five minutes pass by before he browbeats him into going back so he’s shocked when he hears a “You need to open up.”

“Huh?” Eggsy asks, blinking.

“You need to open up,” Ector repeats. He’s entirely still, with his eyes closed, and if his mouth hadn’t moved Eggsy would have guessed that the voice was coming from inside his own head. “I used to bottle everything up too.”

“I don’t bottle everything up,” Eggsy says, offended.

That makes Ector open his eyes, and he looks at Eggsy disbelievingly. “You ran, kid,” Ector says, “instead of telling either your producer or your PA about this- Brandon issue. Classic bottling up.”

“I didn’t intend-”  


“I’m not trying to lecture you,” Ector interrupts, his voice still serene and calm. “It’s rich of me, of all people, to tell someone else to open up anyway. I’m just suggesting it. Could help Arthur do his job better, you know. I haven’t seen him this stumped since the Queen sent him to hunt for her lost pet corgi.”

That startles a laugh out of Eggsy, of all things. Harry, annoyed, running after a dumpy dog with short legs, cursing to himself all the way. “He had to hunt for a corgi?”

“In the middle of the night,” Ector confirms, a small grin playing on his lips. “He was wading completely in the dark there, and he’s wading in it now. He thought your old boss was the one sending the notes-”

“What, Merlin? Merlin would never-”

“Not Merlin, the old cunt. Chester King,” Ector elaborates. “He put up such a fuss about involving the police that Arthur had him pegged as the one. Then today happens- you freak out in front of a crowd about some dude called Brandon and then you receive a threat about him, it’s doing his head in.” He pauses, and then adds as an afterthought, “Slightly hilarious to watch, I admit.”

“Not very ethical to laugh at your boss, is it?” Eggsy says wryly.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never laughed at Chester King,” Ector shoots back, and then sighs. “My point is, help us out here a bit, alright? You have quite a bit more skeletons in your closet than we anticipated.”

Of course he has skeletons, Eggsy thinks while looking into Ector’s earnest eyes. You don’t grow up like Eggsy had without doing some things that would probably give fucking TMZ a field day if they ever found out the fullest extent of it. But what Ector probably doesn’t know is that this isn’t just a matter of opening up - it’s also a matter of violating the trust of a number of people. What happened- it’s bigger than him, and if it’s what brought these threats on his head, then he probably deserves it.

Eggsy doesn’t say any of this. Instead he says, “I’ll think about it,” and tries not to feel too guilty when Ector smiles a small, satisfied smile.

“That’s all anyone can ask for,” Ector says. “And who knows, maybe-” he stops mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as he looks over Eggsy’s shoulder, and Eggsy frowns. “What?”

“Stand up, slowly,” Ector instructs, his voice low and soft. “Keep to my side.” Eggsy’s about to argue when he notices the look in Ector’s eyes- one of barely restrained fear and tension. Swallowing, he does so, and just as Ector motions soundlessly for Eggsy to follow him as he makes his way out of the tiny grove, there’s a crack like a gunshot. Eggsy jumps a foot in the air as a bullet, whizzing out from behind him where he’d sat on the bench, buries itself in the exact same spot he’d been sprawled out on exactly two seconds ago.

Ector instantly grabs Eggsy’s arm, pulling at him and yelling, “Run!”

The park isn’t a popular location as it is- not enough of a running track and way too many trees- and at night it’s even less of one, with no one milling about. As Ector runs, dragging Eggsy along as he frantically forces his feet to move, they don’t run into anyone. It’s something that Eggsy counts himself grateful for, because it’s one less blow to his reputation if no one’s around to see him flee from a potential gunman. There is a set of pattering footsteps behind him and when Eggsy focuses on his hearing, his stomach clenches. _Two_ gunmen, not just one.

“Duck!” Ector screams, and Eggsy does so, feeling the heat of the bullet scorch his scalp and ruffle his hair. Another bullet slams itself into the tree beside him and Ector curses, shoving Eggsy in front of him. He has a sharp, steely look in his eyes, full of determination and it makes Eggsy feel slightly safer. “Straight ahead, to the parking lot!”

“What about you?” Eggsy demands, turning around. That’s when he sees it-behind Ector, two gunmen running at full speed towards them, guns drawn and aimed at both of them. A balaclava is drawn over both of their faces. As Eggsy watches, they stop at that distance and the left gunman visibly moves his trigger.

“Fuck!” Eggsy yells, yanking Ector behind a tree- three bangs ensue, and three bullets pass through exactly where Eggsy had just been standing.

“Thanks,” Ector says breathlessly. “Listen, you make a run for it-” he pauses as two bullets bury themselves in the opposite side of the tree they’re hiding behind, before continuing, “-I’ll provide you with cover.”

“I’m not heading there without you!”

“I’ll be just behind, relax,” Ector says, rolling his eyes. He pokes his head out from behind the tree, and fires off a single shot- from the cut off yell, it sounds like it’s hit its target. “This ain’t a case of me giving myself up for you or something equally barmy. On my count, alright?”

There’s the sound of footsteps getting closer with every second. Eggsy’s heart is hammering away within the confines of his ribcage, his midriff cold with sweat. His head is the clearest it’s been in the last few hours, though, driven out of his own funk with the need to just get out alive. By hell is he going to let this X, too cowardly to show their own face, win- he will survive by the skin of his own teeth if he absolutely has to.

“Now!” Ector yells and Eggsy makes a mad dash for the nondescript London cab sitting innocently between two cars. There’s the collective cacophony of gunshots and bullets whizzing in the air, cut off curses and yells. He doesn’t pay it any attention, however- all he focuses on is reaching the door of the cab intact. Once there, he ducks down low and opens the driver’s door, crawling up into the seat. He twists on the seat, about to look through the windshield to gauge Ector’s whereabouts but he doesn’t have to- a second later, the passenger’s door opens and Ector’s pale face appears. Eggsy peers into the windshield and gasps when he sees both of the gunmen- one of them missing an arm, actually- running with a single minded focus towards the cab they’re both huddled in. 

“Floor it!” Ector screams, and Eggsy does so, jamming his foot down on the pedal and pulling out of the lot. A bullet crashes into the back of the cab and Eggsy feels the jolt reverberate through the entire car as he speeds down the road, crashing through the parking station and the locked entrance of the park, entering the highway at a speed his mother would scream at him for. Once in the highway, he doesn’t let up- swerving left and then right past screaming drivers.

“Christ but you drive like a demon,” Ector pants, wincing as he shifts in the seat. “You can let up now, speed racer- they can hardly chase us on foot.” When Eggsy doesn’t let up, swerving into another lane abruptly and causing someone on the pavement to jump and shriek, Ector raises his voice. “ _Eggsy._ It’s alright, I’ve checked- there’s no one following us. Slow down- we don’t want to get pulled over.”

Breathing out by letting puffs of air infinitesimally leave his lips, Eggsy lets up on the pedal, slowing down enough to reach the speed of the cars around him. His knuckles, clenched white around the wheel have locked- he can’t seem to remove them, nor does he really want to. In his mind’s eye- a dangerous place for anyone to be in- the same image keeps flashing and flashing over again like a malfunctioning TV screen. It’s the same two men clad in black head to toe, raising the guns in their direction like a modern form of the boogeyman.

“You’re alright,” Ector says softly, when Eggsy still holds the steering wheel and inches the car forward to rest at a red light. “We’re safe, they’re not after us anymore,” Ector pauses, and Eggsy hears him shift and wince before saying, “ah- fucking _fuck_ me.”

Eggsy raises his eyebrows at Ector’s cursing- then again, this is a night of curses, after all. And then his heart drops when he hears Ector shift, and a crackle, before a groan of pain leaves his lips. It’s what prompts him to let his hands leave the steering wheel as he turns to look at Ector who’s propped up his left ankle on his right knee, rolling up the blood sodden trouser pants to inspect the festering bullet wound on his ankle. Ector had protected him, running on a bullet wound all this time and he hadn’t noticed because he’d been too busy wallowing in his own panic- it makes him feel like a classless fool. “God- when did that happen?” Eggsy asks.

Ector looks up, and cringes at what he finds on Eggsy’s face- fear and horror, probably. “While I was covering you,” he answers. “It’s a through and through- watch out, green light.” At a resounding honk behind him, Eggsy starts driving the car again, looking intermittently between the road and the bloodied ankle. There are beads of perspiration along Ector’s neck and forehead as well as an ashy, unwell tint to his skin- all signs that Eggsy had missed.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Eggsy says desperately, to which Ector shakes his head. The tint of pallor makes Eggsy’s unease increase- he knows how painful gunshots are, and especially how painful and potentially damaging a through and through gunshot can be. It’s dark, so maybe it’s playing tricks on his eyes but when he focuses his gaze it really does seem like half of Ector’s pant leg is soaked through with blood, sodden and overwhelmingly black. Swallowing, Eggsy slowly picks up the speed again- he swerves into the next lane to take a shortcut to the apartment complex.

“Are the rest-” Eggsy stops awkwardly, because he’s not sure how he wants to ask the question. However, Ector seems to understand, because he gestures towards his own earpiece, saying, “Yeah, I gave them a call while you were freaking out and speed racing. Do you happen to have a handkerchief I could borrow?”

“I don’t-” and then Eggsy pauses, because he does have a handkerchief. After they’d come back from that disaster of a lunch Harry had accompanied him to the loo, where he’d splashed his face with water in an effort to not look so much like a dying, ashen waif of a human being. The loo had been all out of paper towels so Harry had produced one of his- monogrammed and all- for Eggsy to dry his face on. He’d stuffed it haphazardly into his back pocket and then promptly forgotten about it. Now, as Ector looks at him expectantly, he reaches around and fishes out the crumpled thing, handing it to Ector whose eyes widen.

“That’s Arthur’s.” There’s a smug look on his face, like the affirmation of something he’d been ruminating on- Eggsy doesn’t care for it one whit. “He lent you his handkerchief? He wouldn’t even lend me his pen.”

“Maybe,” Eggsy suggests evenly, “it’s because you cut him off while he’s talking. Not that I’m not thankful for it,” he hastily adds, in case Ector gets offended. He half expects Ector to take offense anyway, get all high and stroppy and tell Eggsy off for being a hypocritical, self-entitled prick but all Ector does is laugh.

“That’s true, but you and he seem to be getting quite close,” Ector says easily. “I think it’s cute.”

“Glad to get your opinion on it,” Eggsy says dryly, as Ector presses the handkerchief against the wound to stem the bleeding, hissing as he does so. The apartment complex appears as a tiny dot at the end of the lane and Eggsy, relieved, speeds up a smidge to reach the complex faster. When they’re there, there’s a van waiting, sleek and black. As he rolls up, Harry’s white, awashed face appears in the side window, eyes scanning over Eggsy for a good thirty seconds before fixing on Ector.

“See,” Harry says firmly and disapprovingly, “this is what happens when you cut communications off your boss and only bother to restore them to say you’ve been shot at.”

“I also said I got your boy here safe and sound,” Ector says resolutely, ignoring Eggsy’s yelp at the reference. “Help me out, there’s a good lad.”

“I’m older than you,” Harry sighs, but he and two other men, all clad in suits, come rushing over, helping Ector out of the car by shoving one hand under his armpit and another around his waist. Eggsy also climbs out, shutting the engine, and watches anxiously as the two men help Ector to a gurney, his hands fluttering. They then heave it into the back of the van, slapping the doors shut before moving into the driver’s seat and taking off.

Harry approaches him from the back then, one hand on his elbow. “He’s being taken to a private hospital. One affiliated with our service- they treat our agents whenever there are injuries.” The grip on his elbow tightens. “Speaking of injuries-”

“I have none,” Eggsy cuts in, because an attempt to dodge out of the impending lecture is better than nothing, “and I’m really tired, so maybe-”

“You’re not escaping me that easily,” Harry snaps, and his voice shakes just a little bit. It’s that quake that tells Eggsy everything he needs to know- that Harry had been angry, worried and terrified over his absence. It’s that, more than anything, that makes him remove Harry’s grip on his elbow gently and turn around. Surprisingly enough, Harry’s grip goes easily, and he lets his hand rest weakly in Eggsy’s, his brown eyes dark with a mess of swirling emotion. For a moment, Eggsy lets his gaze rest over Harry, over his ashen face white with panic and fear, the veins standing out in his forearms where the sleeves have been rolled up, the brown hair ruffled into a bird’s nest leagues away from his usual perfectly coiffed do. Even as a veritable mess he looks gorgeous but that’s not the focus of Eggsy’s thoughts- mainly, anyway- because all Eggsy can feel is a peculiar ache in his chest, inexplicably, for making Harry worry like this. Harry Hart, too good for him to be fretting over his safety like this.

“I’m sorry,” Eggsy says sincerely, watching as Harry’s jaw actually drops at the easy apology. “I received the threat and I panicked, I didn’t think- all this while I’d assumed it was a stupid prank but the danger is real. The danger is _real_ , it freaked the hell out of me and I did a stupid thing in response and for that, I’m sorry. Close that gob, you’ll catch flies with it,” he adds, smirking slightly as Harry shuts his mouth with a faintly annoyed look.

Harry studies him for a second, his gaze intense and searing. Then, his whole visage softens and he gently rubs his thumb over Eggsy’s knuckles before dropping his hand. Eggsy tries not to miss the feeling too pathetically as Harry says, “It’s alright- things like these are frightening. You need to trust us, though- trust Merlin, trust Roxy, trust me. Every one of us- we’ll go to the ends of the earth to make sure you’re safe.”

“I know,” Eggsy sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly. “Give me time to believe it, alright?” He can see his apartment on the fifteenth floor, the lights still turned on. He hasn’t turned his phone on in about three hours or so but he knows that if he turns it on now, he’ll receive at least ten missed calls from Merlin and twice as much from his mum. “Are they mad at me?”

“Never,” Harry says. “They’re worried and frightened for you.” He slings an arm around his shoulder, a warm comfortable weight that makes Eggsy’s heart, as exhausted as he is, do triple time. “Come on, they’ll be waiting.” They start making their way over to the lift, Eggsy purposely dragging his feet partly to enjoy the feeling of his arm around his shoulder, and partly because he’s dead on his feet.

“I must be your worst client,” Eggsy says when they enter the lift, only half joking. His heart lifts when Harry removes his arm from Eggsy’s shoulder to press the button before glancing back and saying warmly, “Absolutely not- you’re my best.”

*

22nd January 2004, 6:00 pm

Eggsy’s half dozing off in the back of the class Algebra when his phone buzzes. It’s Brandon and in his usual style, the message is simple but straightforward.

_Wru? Waiting._

They had arranged to meet at six sharp, after all- Eggsy had just forgotten in the mind numbing world of math. He aces it- aces every test with a sharp A that his teacher doesn’t understand because in her words Eggsy was ‘one of the most inattentive students she’s had the misfortune to teach’ but that doesn’t mean he likes the subject itself- inanely boring and not as challenging as some of the seniors liked to make it out to be. Therefore, he doesn’t feel too guilty about quietly sneaking out the classroom with his bag clenched tight in his arms, Jamal rolling his eyes at him while he’s on the way out. Of course he, Eggsy and Ryan meet up with Brandon regularly but these meet-ups are special. They’re for Eggsy and Brandon alone.

As he makes his way over to the estates, his phone lights up with another message- _on the roof._ Back when he and Brandon at the tender ages of ten and a half were still finding their spot, they had chanced upon the roof of the estate they both lived in by trial and error. Eggsy had been pulling him along, escaping from Rottie and his thugs whom they’d nicked their wallets off when they’d passed by the fire escape. With each other’s help they’d slowly but surely traversed the fire escape, finally coming out on the roof where they’d been treated to a first-class view of South London- grimy, but theirs. It had been their spot ever since- despite all the dust bunnies and occasional blood patches.

When he finally reaches the roof, Brandon is seated on the ledge, legs dangling over. His back is hunched, straining against tight polo fabric. The lower part of his bicep til his elbow is coated in a green bruise the shape of fingerprints and Eggsy swallows against the rising tide of anger, uncomfortable like sludge.

“You pulled me out of Algebra,” Eggsy says halfheartedly, as he heaves himself up onto the spot beside Brandon. Brandon smiles ruefully, nudging his shoulder with his own. “You agreed to meet at six, Eggsy.”

“I know,” Eggsy says defeatedly. He looks down and that’s when he noticed it- clutched between Brandon’s fingers, a tiny Ziploc bag filled to the brim with ice. The crystals are powdery and finite, crowded against the edges of the transparent material. The sight of them also makes a huge boulder the weight of a thousand suns drop into the bottom of Eggsy’s stomach like an unforgivable weight. If Brandon himself is holding the drugs that his father so willingly peddles, then- unthinkingly, he reaches out a hand and snatches it from Brandon’s fingers.

Brandon, clearly not expecting it, sends him a fierce glare. “Oi- give it back! Da’s tracking every piece.”

“So he got you into the ring, then,” Eggsy says flatly, keeping it out of Brandon’s reach and turning it over in his hands. So small, so seemingly harmless- yet one packet could ruin the lives it touched in an instant. Eggsy only had to look to his mum for evidence; day in and day out she was out cold in her room, drugged to the gills with the blinds drawn shut, deaf to Eggsy’s cries as Dean pommeled the shit out of him.

Brandon, giving up on taking the drugs back, leans back on his arms. “Yeah, mate,” he says, looking out across the view and avoiding Eggsy’s keen gaze. “Couldn’t avoid it. It was him or my little brothers- and you know I’ll do anything to avoid them getting any closer to him. Liam’s having a hard time dealing with him these days.”

“I know,” Eggsy says. Brandon’s father, an abusive dick and a sniveling excuse of a human being, is the lead enforcer of the gang that controlled the drug trade slowly overtaking the seedy underbelly of South London- Dean is his second-in-command. It will only have been a matter of time before he forced Brandon into being a runner for them, as well. The one at the top, controlling every action of the ring like a masterful puppeteer is invisible- they owned half of London, so by proxy Brandon’s father was the king of the South.

“I wish you didn’t have to do this,” Eggsy says softly, and is entirely unprepared for the vitriol that escapes Brandon’s mouth.

“ _I_ wish I didn’t have to! God, Eggsy- you honestly think I want this? To be such a rollover-” he stops mid-sentence, agitated, and leaps back from the ledge. Pacing on the floor of the roof, he reaches up with both hands and grips fistfuls of his own hair, clenching tight.

“He hurt you again today,” Eggsy says instead, nodding towards his forearm. At his observation, Brandon snorts, nodding, but he finally releases his hair and lets his hands rest by his thighs, half formed into fists.

“Of course he did- tried to say no like a right idiot, didn’t I? He can’t have anyone resisting his say so in the damn house. He did it in front of Liam too- he was crying for a full hour afterwards.”

Eggsy watches him quietly from his spot on the ledge. He’d known this day would come- the day either one would be called on to join the ring, and help with the drug trade within London, worsening the ever growing problem of addiction to substance abuse and drug usage. He just didn’t know that it would be this soon- they were both still woefully underage. Still young- he’d just thought they would have more time, like a right optimistic fool.

“You didn’t call me here just to tell me that, did you,” Eggsy observes. Brandon would never do that- he wasn’t the type to air his sorrows and burdens on someone else’s shoulder, even if that someone was his best friend.

“No,” Brandon says, sighing. “Da may have me try to expand sales to your school. Spread the message- avoid me if they can.”

“I will,” Eggsy says gently. “I have ointment in my bag, sit down will you?”

“Why do you have ointment in your bag, you freak?” Brandon jokes, sitting down on the ledge beside Eggsy again. As he sits down, Eggsy notices that the set of his shoulders seem to be lighter, somehow- as though unloading some of his worries has made it weigh less on his heart. If he could shoulder the burden for his friends, Eggsy thinks, he would in a heartbeat. He can’t, though- the gulf between him and his friends’ troubles- this one in particular- seems to be one that is ever widening.

“Because I know your dick of a dad would have hit you again,” Eggsy says steadily. “Now still- it’ll burn.”

“Not all of our fathers can be as saintly as yours,” Brandon says, hissing slightly as Eggsy works his fingers around the bruise. “Fucking giving his supposed all in the army, dying such a martyred death you and your mum are left to fend for yourselves-”

“Careful,” Eggsy says lazily. “I might have to push you off this ledge.”

“Fuck right off,” Brandon says tiredly, in response. Every word of his is laced with exhaustion. “Let’s never have kids, mate. Let’s just- run off into the sunset on motorbikes. Come on- I’ll even steal the Vespa from Uncle Tom’s. He’ll forgive me eventually.”

Eggsy doesn’t know what makes him say it- maybe it’s the exhaustion and halfway there hope tinged in the tilt of each word. Either way, he bites his lip and says, “I quit gymnastics.”

Brandon pulls his bicep away from Eggsy’s fingers, staring. _“What?”_

“It’s too much,” Eggsy says, sighing. “With the pension gone, it’s hard- and you know Dean. He said it’s a sport for sissies- he’s refusing to fund it. Mum says we don’t have enough money for it.”

“But-” Brandon gapes at him. “Didn’t your coach say you were Olympic team material?”

“He did,” Eggsy says, sighing. “He also gave me the cost of signing onto the Olympic team, all the training and the uniforms.” Eggsy can do the best pivot on the beam in his team but all the pivots can’t gain him a position on the team- that, it seems, can only be funded by money and money alone. “It’s too high- and well, you know what Dean said.”

“Fuck what Dean said,” Brandon says vehemently. Eggsy smiles sadly- he _would_ be vehement, the boys used to wait at the local petrol station for Eggsy to be done with training and they would all walk home together, Eggsy regaling them with tales about how all his teammates fell face flat on the mat but he didn’t.

  


“Like your Da?” At Eggsy’s words, Brandon shuts his mouth, looking chastised. Eggsy sighs again- he hadn’t meant to be so abrupt, but Brandon continuously reminding him of how good he was at gymnastics wasn’t doing him any favours.  


They sit in silence for a bit, Eggsy finishing up on Brandon’s arm and Brandon looking out at the skyline. Intermittently, he sneaks looks up at Brandon’s face- he’d returned to his earlier despondent state of mind and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. They were all, perhaps, destined to die in this infested hellhole of a prison, devoid of soul and morals. It’s what, after all, made men like Dean and Brandon’s Da exist.

“Come on, Brandon,” Eggsy says instead, smoothing down his sleeve. “Let’s get ice cream and forget about this. It’s not too late yet.”

Brandon gives him a small smile, clearly forced, and together they make their way out of the roof.

*

24 February 2014, 1:00 am

Everyone, predictably, is angry at Eggsy for running away. Roxy checks him over, makes sure he’s okay before yelling at him, while he sits down chagrined on the sofa. His mother, face pale with fright, takes her turn after Roxy is done. She doesn’t yell at Eggsy, though. Instead, she kneels and taking Eggsy’s limp hands in her own, asks him what’s going on.

“Be honest,” she says, eyes imploring, and he breaks.

When he tells her everything, she doesn’t freak out- just sits back on her heels, and stares back at him. Her mouth is slightly open and off to the side, Merlin is wincing. He hasn’t said a word yet, mouth thin and arms folded. There’s a question in Michelle’s eyes, one that Eggsy knows he ought to answer later but he can’t do it in front of Merlin- not yet.

“Threats,” Michelle says faintly. “You didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Eggsy says softly, squeezing her hands. “You have enough on your plate.”

“I’m supposed to be the one concerned about you, not the other way round!”

“You freaking out isn’t gonna do us any favours,” Eggsy reminds her quietly.

Merlin is a different nut to crack. He doesn’t talk to Eggsy at all, silent in a way that unnerves him. Instead, he looks out the window, deep in thought as Roxy informs him that she and Merlin will leave shortly. Harry, it seems, has decided to station guards at the apartment complex- just one measure added to the many he’ll discuss with Eggsy in the morning. Eggsy isn’t looking forward to it at all.

“Okay,” Eggsy says, biting his lip as he stares over at Merlin. “Is Merlin-”

“He’s been weird ever since you ran off,” Roxy says, with the very specific eyeroll she has reserved for just Merlin. “Talk to him, because he sure as hell won’t talk to me.”

"If he’s mad, I don’t think he will-” Eggsy gets cut off by the man himself mid-sentence because unbeknownst to him, Merlin had walked up behind him, evidently listening in on their conversation. “I’m not mad,” Merlin cuts in.

“You should be!” Eggsy argues as he whips around to look sheepishly at Merlin. “I just ran off, without telling anyone. Not very becoming of a singer licensed with Kingsman records, is it?”

“No, it isn’t,” Merlin says tiredly, “but neither is yelling at the singers under your charge all because you’re in a bit of a snit.” He slings an arm around Eggsy’s shoulder and gives him a one armed side-hug which Eggsy snuggles very slightly into- Merlin’s hugs are rare, but very warm. “I’m sorry for yelling earlier today. It’s just this whole X thing, it has me scared.” Merlin very rarely admits his fear in public and for him to do so now strikes a chord within Eggsy.

“I’m sorry for- everything,” Eggsy says, very lamely.

“I know you already know what you did wrong,” Merlin continues. “So I’ll keep it short. Don’t run off like that- Kingsman has billions invested in you.”

Just like that, Eggsy’s heart sinks. Of course he’d be worried about the loss of Eggsy as a business motive, rather than an actual person. “Billions- yeah. Right.”

“I wanted,” Merlin continues conversationally, “to ask you about Brandon too- but I talked to Harry first.”

At the name, Eggsy stiffens significantly. God, he’d love to one day let the name pass over him without feeling like he needs to rip the spine out of his back but now, just hearing it slip from Merlin’s mouth is enough to make him want to bash a head against a wall in sheer panic.

“It’s okay,” Merlin says gently, turning him around to face him, “if you don’t tell us about him. All I need to do, after all, is make sure you’re safe now.”

“Brandon’s in your past,” Roxy adds, squeezing his shoulder. “We don’t care one whit about that.”

Eggsy knows that’s a lie- Roxy, bless her soul, is a competent, capable PA but nosy right to the core when it come to it. Boundaries, to her, is just a word- it must be at Merlin’s say so that she’s decided to hold herself back.

“I can tell you about it,” he says, terribly halfheartedly. “About what happened with him.”

“You look about as excited as a half-starved kidnap victim to tell me so,” Merlin says wryly. “And if what Harry said about how you reacted is true- and I don’t doubt it is- I’d rather you hold off on the storytelling for another day. I am in no mood to find out what colour you turn when you faint.”

Harry’s off to the side, talking to Michelle who’s been grilling him about the details of the predicament Eggsy’s found himself in. He’d tidied up, convinced of Eggsy’s safety. Now clad in the same neatly pressed oxford shirt with the sleeves pulled to his wrists and black trousers he almost looks like he usually does when he guards Eggsy- the only difference is that this time there’s an errant brown curl flopping over his forehead, a splash of haphazard, as he explains patiently to Michelle.

“He helped me a lot with today,” Eggsy says happily, “would have died without him around. Ector, too.” He turns back around to find Merlin and Roxy staring at him- Merlin disgustedly, Roxy incredulously.

“That _is_ the point of a bodyguard, you’ll find,” Roxy says. “They’ll- protect you from danger, and whatnot.” She peers at Eggsy so intensely, confusing incredulity forgotten, that Eggsy opens his mouth to ask her if anything’s wrong. Before he even says anything, though, she grabs Merlin and says hastily, “Well, we’ll best be off then!”

“Okay,” Eggsy says bemusedly, following them to the door. Merlin opens his mouth, looking furious, before Roxy stomps on his foot and plasters an entirely unconvincing smile on her face. “Harry will bring you to work, as always,” Roxy says brightly, as Merlin nods, looking somewhat constipated. “This time, do please wait for him to come before rushing out, will you?”

“Ha ha,” Eggsy says sourly, hugging her goodbye. “Be careful, I don’t want the men shooting at me to find you.”

“I have an army background, she’ll be fine,” Merlin says, voice somewhat hoarse. But he sends a warm smile at Eggsy anyway, probably to let him know that all has been forgiven. “Try to stay alive for the night.”

Watching them walk away to the car, bickering softly about something or other, Eggsy smiles, something warm unfurling in his chest. He really doesn’t deserve them.

Or Harry, he thinks, looking back at the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes:
> 
> eggsy is 14 in this flashback, as well as brandon. they're in different classes, but the same school. this chapter was like pulling teeth out of my damn mouth so i hope its not too terrible i lost steam towards the end. i promise the next chapter will be a lot better lawl. also i realise i shot ector in this chapter but don't worry he's not out of the story at all, he still has a significant role to play


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for slight ableism (eggsy lamenting about himself) and prostitution mention

25 February 2014, 8:00 am  


Merlin gives him a day off for the next day- “Do not, whatever you do, come to work today, Unwin. I don’t want to see your mug here, I’m warning you!”- so he takes Daisy to the park the next day. They feed the pigeons little bits of bread, avoid the place where he had gotten shot at, and briefly take a ride on the swings while onlookers point in awe. At one point, Daisy runs off to play with a toddler with messy black hair and bright green eyes in the sandbox and Eggsy awkwardly chats with the toddler’s mother. All in all, it’s a pleasan day spent with nature and his favourite girl in the whole universe so on the morning of the day after, he has all his guards down.  


Therefore, it honestly takes him by surprise when he’s hit by a very, very unwelcome headline the next morning. It happens while he’s eating cereal with one hand and holding his phone with the other- in fact, Eggsy can pinpoint the exact second when he discovers the fallout from the day with the crowds. He’s just idly scrolling through his Instagram feed, Daisy on her high chair doing her best to make sure her food ends up anywhere but her mouth when his phone pings with an alert from Roxy. _Don’t look at the news today. _  
__

Too late- his news app pings with another notification, and this one is in the form of an article by Hollywood Reporter. _Bit of Rough from the Blocks Eggsy Unwin Flies off the Handle at Shocked Onlookers,_ it reads, and the rest of it is equally as scathing, painting Eggsy as someone who’s clearly gone off the deep end- probably brought on by inexperience in the cutthroat industry of music. Eggsy skims through to the end, feeling even more disgusted in himself, before he closes the article and places his handphone face down on the table. The phone vibrates, but he doesn’t pick it up again- instead, he spoons another mouthful of cereal into his mouth and looks up to meet his mother’s eyes, questioning in their gaze.

“What was it?” Michelle asks, as Daisy screams, “No!” and bats the spoonful of baby mush away. It lands on the floor, and Michelle looks at it instead, aghast.

___ _

___“Dais, come on, eat your food,” Eggsy says, as Michelle heads to the kitchen after scolding Daisy- “Bad Daisy!”- and picking up the dirty spoon. “You can’t help the minions on an empty stomach, can you?” Eggsy briefly regrets ever renting out the bloody DVD for Daisy to watch- two days previous, Daisy had refused to go to bed in anything that isn’t yellow.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“No f-ah,” Daisy says, and Eggsy’s heart sinks a little. It’s another effect of staying with Dean- the developmental delays. Dean’s screams and blows raining down on both Eggsy and his mum had instilled a healthy fear of her surroundings and her own father within Daisy, and with it a delayed growth rate as well. Smaller than most her age and talking less as well- Eggsy could see the worry within the lines on his mum’s face, whenever she looked at Daisy. It was a worry that lived deep in Eggsy’s heart as well.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Say food, Daisy,” Eggsy says. Daisy purses her lips and stares back stubbornly.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You have to eat, Daisy-girl,” Michelle says tiredly, coming out of the kitchen again. In her left hand is the bowl of mush and in the right, a new wooden baby spoon. “Eggsy, what was it that you were looking at?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___The phone beside him vibrates again, loud and annoying. Daisy blows a raspberry from between her lips to mimic the sound, giggling. He ignores it, choosing to focus on Daisy’s happy squeals as she acquiesces to eating the mush. “Yeah, I’d be disgusted by that sh-food, too, if I were you,” he tells her, smiling and ignoring when his mum directs a frown at him.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Eggsy- don’t ignore me, I asked you what you were looking at. You looked plenty horrified when you saw it.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Nothing,” Eggsy sighs, “just a stupid article on what happened yesterday. You know, me yelling at the crowd about Brandon.” He spoons the last of the cereal into his mouth, and looks up in time to see his mum staring back at him, her expression one of- strangely enough, grief.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“We never did talk about Brandon,” she murmurs, and there it is- the reason. Brandon, ruining his life even now, four years after his death.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“We don’t need to,” Eggsy says tightly, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Monogrammed too- whenever he looked at the E.U handstitched at the left side of it, he got hives. “Over and done.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“It’s not over and done,” his mum argues, as Eggsy heads to his room to collect his jacket. “If this- if this X who’s been bothering you is related to Brandon in some way-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___There’s an anxious queasiness residing within Eggsy’s stomach, fighting to get out. At his mother’s words the queasiness ratchets up a notch and he stomps out of the room, glaring at Michelle. “Absolutely not,” he snaps. The words come out a mile a minute, rapid in his tangible fear and it doesn’t go unnoticed. “It’s not related at all in any way, alright? This asshole is just some idiot who’s jealous of my success or whatever. He wants me out of the game, that’s it- nothing else to it. Nothing else.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Michelle is silent, eyes focused on him as she continues to feed Daisy. The look in her eyes is too knowing, too sad for him to think he’s pulled one over her- it’s all too clear that she’s heard the fear in his retort. The panic that he’s wrong, and Brandon has a larger part to play in this.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“It wasn’t just about Brandon,” Michelle says suddenly, startling him out of his own funk. “You did the right thing, you know.” She swallows, looking scared. “I wasn’t always- coherent back then, but I was always proud of you.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Coherent is an understatement- under the drug fueled haze she would say anything and everything that came into her mind and some of it wasn’t all that polite. Twice a week, Eggsy used to help her up from the toilet and tuck her sweat laden body into bed, Dean in the living room laughing raucously with his band of cronies. Once, she’d woken up briefly to pat his cheek, call him Lee and tell him she’d been expecting him. That very day, Eggsy had snuck out at night to cajole Brandon into joining him for a night of drinks at the Black Prince. Maybe he should have been at home, nursing his mother, but having her call him Lee had been all sorts of unbearable.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Have you told the others about Brandon?” Michelle asks, as he starts to shrug the jacket on. “Harry, or Merlin?” At her question, he freezes, one arm half out of the jacket.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Not yet,” he says, swallowing. Daisy shrieks and slaps her hand on the table, yelling gibberish. If Eggsy had hoped it would take the heat off of him, it doesn’t- after shushing her, Michelle turns her expectant gaze back to Eggsy. Back in the apartment in the estates, she wouldn’t hang on to one issue with such tenacity. It’s both a blessing, and a curse. “I haven’t had the time,” he explains, shoving his arm in the whole way and zipping his jacket up.  
_ _ _

___ _

____“Boll- nonsense,” Michelle says adamantly, as Eggsy collects his phone and his wallet before making his way to the door. “They should know-”__  
“Bye, mum,” Eggsy says loudly, pressing a kiss to her cheek and another one to Daisy’s head.  


“At least tell Harry, I trust him! Have a nice day at work, sweetie,” Michelle yells out. As he heads out, he hears her tell Daisy, “It’s just you and me today, lil’ flower,” and smiles. She’d like _Little Flowers_ on the upcoming album.

The nondescript cab is waiting at the curb when he leaves the apartment lobby. The windows are tinted black as they always are, opaque in a way that makes pedestrians wonder. Harry had told him once that because of the opaque windows, two of his agents embroiled in a purely physical relationship had used the opportunity to fuck like bunnies over a two-hour drive. Ever since then, the rule had been mandated that no more than one agent was to ride in the backseat at all times. He’d told the story to make Eggsy laugh after a trying day with Merlin and he’d achieved his objective, Eggsy had nearly busted a rib cackling. Moments like that, of Harry being his genuine self with him, not just some prickly bodyguard, had made Eggsy put his trust in him in a way he hadn’t with anyone else. His mum, though, seemed to think it was as simple as just telling him once he trusted him wholly. Eggsy may trust Harry now, but the words are still hard to formulate. How does one go about telling their bodyguard how, exactly, their best friend died- even more so when said death was a murder?

He slides into the back seat of the cab. This time round, Harry’s in the front seat with Kay in the driver’s seat. The arrangement is strange and slightly awkward- how the hell is he supposed to go about telling the back of Harry’s head about Brandon? When he clips on the seat belt, Harry twists around and shoots him a benign smile.

“You’re early,” he says. “You’re not usually in before fifteen to nine.”

___ _

___“Thought I’d put in extra time today, what with me taking yesterday off and all,” Eggsy says, as Kay pulls out the driveway and Harry turns back in front. “How’s Ector?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Recovering nicely in a private hospital,” Harry says. He then shoots Eggsy a slightly guilty look. “You won’t be able to visit him yet.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy blinks. “Why the fuck not?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“The location of the hospital is a secret in the service,” Kay says. “I’ve been to see him- he’s just fine, he told you to take it easy.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy supposes he can understand the level of discretion- still, it rankles at him, not being able to visit the agent who had protected him. He shifts on the seat and swallows, deciding not to press the issue further in favour of addressing a more urgent one. “Did you-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“See the Hollywood Reporter article?” Harry cuts in. Eggsy’s seated behind Kay, so he has a diagonal view to Harry’s lips pulled down in a grimace. “I did, very unfortunately. Roxy’s doing her best to pull it, so I doubt it will be there for much longer.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Even Roxy’s clout has to fail with the media at some point,” Eggsy sighs. “They painted me as a fucking maniac. Frothing at the bit, yelling my head off at innocent people.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“They were hardly innocent,” Harry points out archly. “Most of them were unruly.” He pauses, drumming his fingers against his lap before saying, “They didn’t report on what exactly you shouted, which is good.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___The bottom of Eggsy’s stomach drops out like a stone. “Fuck- I hadn’t thought about that.” When Eggsy rose to the spotlight, naysayers had dug into his past deep enough to unearth the fact that he’d used to be a rentboy and a runner for Dean’s gang. It didn’t matter to them that he’d been a victim of abuse, it mattered to them that he’d contributed to the infestation of crimes like solicitation and substance abuse. They hadn’t, however, dug deeply enough to unearth his darkest memories- one mention of Brandon though, and that would have been blown out the water. It wouldn’t just be Hollywood Reporter running the story- Forbes would probably run it too.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I also need to update you on the new security measures,” Harry says briskly. “Having gunmen shooting at you changes everything. I’ve made security at your house a lot tighter- two of my agents will be guarding your mother and sister for the time being.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I can’t imagine she was happy about that,” Eggsy says dryly. Michelle Unwin when lucid and sober is fiercely independent, capable of sorting through her own issues. She wouldn’t take kindly to someone tailing her at all times, especially to Daisy’s childcare or her support group for abused women.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“She wasn’t,” Harry replies, “but she understood the severity.” He clears his throat, looking slightly awkward. “You know, of course, that all your personal mail is being vetted-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“It is?” Eggsy demands.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“It was before,” Harry says. “But for some reason, the letters still reached you. It was a Kingsman team that vetted it before, of course, and they all swear they have no clue how it happened, but all the same- I’m removing them, and we’ll be in charge of your mail.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Why did I not know this before?” Eggsy asks. “That practically proves it’s an inside job.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“It does prove that Kingsman has abysmal security,” Harry says severely, but Eggsy’s not listening.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I think,” Eggsy declares, “that it was Charlie. If you want to interrogate him James Bond style, be my guest.” From the driver’s seat, Kay laughs before abruptly turning it into a cough at Harry’s glare.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Eggsy, be serious,” Harry sighs. He shifts, expensive trousers crinkling on the leather seat, before saying, “The police will also be brought in.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“What?” Eggsy sits up straight at this. He’d thought he’d gotten over all that police involvement lark with that catastrophic meeting with Chester. Why have they been brought in now? He doesn’t realise he’s said all this out loud until Harry says incredulously, “You were shot at yesterday. This makes it a police investigation.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“And you’ve told Chester about bringing the coppers in, I gather,” Eggsy says furiously. Chester may have been a prick of the highest order but he’d had a point- a police investigation would have brought on unwanted, bad press. It’s not something Eggsy can afford, or even particularly wants. All Eggsy needs is some reporter digging in too deep into the reasons why Eggsy’s at the police station, spin a few lies and fill a few pockets to get a wild story going.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Merlin and I have decided to leave him out of it,” Harry says stiffly. “Eggsy, X sent a few gunmen after you. He tried to kill you- what happens if he tries again?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“That’s why Merlin hired you,” Eggsy growls. “It’s why you’re my bodyguard- so you can protect me from nutters like that! We don’t need the police for that!”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m gratified you have so much faith in my abilities,” Harry says. There’s a dull flush starting up from his neck, a clear sign that he’s angry and trying to hold onto his temper. The sight just makes Eggsy furious all over again- Harry had no right being angry when its Eggsy’s career on the line. In the driver’s seat, Kay is silent, her hands clenching nervously on the steering wheel. “But I can’t protect you all the time. Look at Ector- he’s now laid up in hospital because of X.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Are you saying it’s my fault?” Eggsy demands. “Because I wasn’t holding the gun- and honestly, it hurts that you just straight up implied that it was my fault for apparently not having the foresight to avoid two crazy gunmen.” He’s had people accuse him of far worse- but hearing it from Harry, of all people, makes him feel like ten kinds of shit.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I wasn’t-” Harry sighs, and twists around, staring right at Eggsy. Eggsy refuses to meet his gaze, staring instead at the back of Kay’s blond head. “I wasn’t blaming you for Ector. What I’m trying to say is-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Very poorly, might I add-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Yes, thank you, Kay,” Harry says tersely. “What I’m trying to say is that there will come a time when neither I, nor Kay am around to protect you. What happens, then, if X manages to get to you? We need to nip this problem in the bud before such a thing happens.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy sighs, unfolding his arms. Harry sounds infuriatingly, maddeningly pragmatic and logical because it is logical to want this asshole, whoever he is, to be caught as fast as possible before he wrecks havoc on Eggsy’s entire life in an irreparable manner. Yesterday had been a close call, Eggsy knows. If he closes his eyes, even now, he can still feel the heat of the bullets whizzing past his face, Ector’s fist a live wire brand around his bicep as he tells him to run. And no matter what Harry says, Eggsy knows it is his fault Ector’s in that hospital now with a banged up foot, because Ector had gone after him and had cut off all communications, all hopes of backup at Eggsy’s behest. Eggsy’s selfish desires to heal on his lonesome had taken precedence, and Ector had accepted the fall, bleeding out in the passenger seat as Eggsy had rushed through night time London half out his mind with shock.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Dean had once slammed his face into the kitchen counter and snarled, viciously, “It is always your shit hitting the fan- never mine, boy.” That charming and graphic life lesson had stayed with Eggsy for a very long time.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“What makes you think the police will be able to do a better job?” Eggsy asks. “All the good ones, like James’ husband, are now in Scotland Yard or working Interpol. The coppers here are useless and worthless. They’d sooner nip out for a drink than do their job. All the addresses on the notes- virtual or otherwise- are untraceable. A blocked number has been sending me the texts.” Dead ends all around, Eggsy doesn’t say, and watches as Harry clenches his jaw in realization.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You have a charming view of the law enforcers in your state,” Harry finally murmurs, turning back in front. “We’re no detectives. Our best hope-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“They promoted the only good one in the Met,” Eggsy says wryly. He should know well enough. Looking up, he sees Harry looking at him confusedly. “How would you know?” Harry asks, and when Eggsy opens his mouth, says hurriedly, “Don’t say you have your sources. It’s the most tried lie in the book. For once, Eggsy, give me a straight answer.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Unbidden, Michelle’s words filter through his brain again. _At least tell Harry. _Harry has that aura about him- one of unlimited kindness and protection. He’d be a good father but more importantly, it means he’s a bloody efficient protector. If Eggsy were normal- having none of these fucking issues and mixed signals in his head telling him to run away at the first sight of a confrontation- he would fel perfectly safe telling Harry everything.  
___ _ _

___ _

___It can still be like that, though. Despite his own shortcomings he can tell Harry everything, and Harry will hold none of it against him because that’s the kind of man Harry is. Respectable, kind and protective to a fault. It may be due to Harry’s job description requiring him to prioritise the needs of his client but as long as it works to the benefit of Eggsy’s safety and those around him who is he to begrudge himself of that which protects him?  
_ _ _

___ _

___Taking a deep breath, he says, “I-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“We’re here!” Kay says cheerfully- perhaps a little too cheerfully, Eggsy’s brain sullenly thinks- stopping outside the Met.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Right,” Harry says, attention broken as he turns to stare out the window. Eggsy feels the pain of losing it like the loss of a limb, or a particularly painful wound. “Eggsy, we’ll continue this conversation at a later date.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Sure we will,” Eggsy mutters.  
_ _ _

___ _

___*  
_ _ _

___ _

___“And there were no other witnesses, other than you and this- bodyguard?” Detective Ineson asks yet again, an incredulous look on his face.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“It was at night, in the secluded area,” Eggsy says, for what feels like the thousandth time. “They only chased us to the parking lot. You can find the bullets, if you go back.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___There’s a skeptical look on his face. Obviously Harry had thought the coppers would solve everything but these were people who had brought him in numerous times on numerous charges, dropping them each time because of Dean Baker’s threats. He may be Eggsy Unwin, Grammy winner to the rest of the world but here in Holborn police station he’s Gary Unwin, little berk who was always running with Dean’s gang- and probably fucking them too. Ineson doesn’t say it, but Eggsy sees it in every line of his face and it makes him want to gnash his teeth together and storm out of there.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“And what did you do to lead these people to shoot at you?” Ineson demands, his eyes flinty with suspicion. A hot sludge of resentment slides into Eggsy’s stomach.  
_ _ _

“I didn’t do anything,” Eggsy says hotly, “except put my head down and make my music. And frankly, I think it’s right funny that you are accusing _me_ of-”

Harry places a hand on his shoulder, warm and tight in warning. “Detective, I find it ridiculous that my client has to keep repeating himself,” he intones in a smooth, posh voice. “He’s already told you- he’s been receiving threats for about a month.”

“And why not report when you first started receiving them?” Ineson asks skeptically. Hitting a detective in a place full of officers is about as bad a move as any so Eggsy settles for glaring at the man so hard he feels the tension behind his eyeballs build like a bad allergic reaction.

“I thought it was a prank at first,” he says. “Then people were shooting at me, so it’s probably not a prank.”

___ _

___“And no one else can corroborate this shooting other than your- security service?” Ineson asks again.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Shouldn’t his- and my agent’s statement be enough?” Harry asks, his voice deceptively placid. His fingers on Eggsy’s shoulders tighten imperceptibly, however- any tighter, and he would be leaving bruises. Somehow, Eggsy is perfectly okay with the idea of wearing Harry’s bruises.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Under normal circumstances, yes,” Ineson says nasally, narrowing his eyes. “But I never forget a face- nor the history behind it.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy rolls his eyes. Ineson had always had the flair for the dramatic. He would probably have made a better actor than a detective.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“So I take it those employed here are in the habit of looking at a man’s past before judging him? I expected much more than the existence of that sort of prejudice in a place of authority,” Harry says imperiously. If Eggsy looks up now he knows what he’ll see- Harry’s face white with fury, his lips pressed together in an unimpressed, severe line. “I have friends in high places, Mr Ineson. One in the commissioner’s office, another in Scotland Yard. I wonder- if word gets out of the abysmal treatment this station gives reformed criminals-”  
_ _ _

_Reformed criminals._ Eggsy’s face burns with shame and his eyes sting- suddenly, he can’t even look anywhere but at the space beside Detective Ineson, the sight of it blurring. Of course he’s a reformed criminal. Harry had records on him, Harry knows what he used to do. What he used to peddle, what he used to steal, who he used to fuck- it’s all out in the open and it’s all out for Harry to know but never openly confront him about, like some filthy dark secret no one wants to open. Pandora’s box; but Eggsy had remained oblivious to the fact that Harry, through all this time, had been in possession of it- until this very second.

“Of course not,” Detective Ineson says hastily, his face reaching an ugly colour of puce. “I am merely just clarifying a few details, is all. The statement is more or less done.” He asks a few more questions- more or less repetitions of his earlier queries. Despite Harry’s veiled threat the skepticism is still there in his face and in the slant of his eyes as he bids them good day and assures that he’ll get back to them with a follow up on the investigation. Eggsy sort of spaces out, not listening to his voice droning on as he thinks back on those two damned words.

As they walk out, Harry heaves a deep sigh. “Eggsy, I’m sorry- it appears you were right. That detective was just rude, wasn’t he? Absolutely abhorrent.”

Eggsy, chewing his own lip, walks ahead. He’s so absorbed in his own head that he doesn’t realise that Harry’s been calling out to him until Harry touches his shoulder gently. Jumping about a foot into the air, Eggsy whips around to see Harry frowning at him, his hand left in mid-air. Lowering it, he says, “I’ve been calling you for the past five minutes. Are you alright?”

___ _

___Eggsy stares back at him, and swallows. He certainly doesn’t want to ask, not where they’re out in broad daylight with numerous other people looking at them curiously but the words fall out of his mouth of their own volition, “Why did you called me a reformed criminal?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Harry pales. He clears his throat, straightening his jacket. “It’s in your record, Eggsy- and that was certainly not the first time Detective Iveson had seen you.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m not a criminal, Harry!” The words explode out of him with all the force of a shotgun- he’s surprised the air around him doesn’t crackle with the energy of it.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“No, but that is what Iveson knew you as,” Harry says steadily. There’s a shade of guilt tinting his eyes, and it is that which prevents Eggsy from fully blowing up. “We certainly wouldn’t have gained his favour by painting you as a saint in front of him.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“What else do you know about me?” Eggsy demands, bulldozering over the latter. He doesn’t give a fuck about what Iveson thinks, he gives a fuck about what Harry thinks. Right now, Harry gives nothing away- whether he thinks more of Eggsy having done those things in his past, or less. “What else you got in your fucking record?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Harry’s eyes whip around nervously. “Eggsy, this is not the time nor place to be having this conversation-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Does your record say I used to fuck johnnies for a penny?” Eggsy hisses, voice harsh. “Or that I once robbed an elderly woman’s music store because Dean said it was her or my little sister getting beaten up? Does your record say I spent an entire fucking month working to pay her back? What does your fucking record say, Harry?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy remembers their conversation in the balcony of his apartment. He remembers Harry saying that records don’t mean anything when it comes to the grain of a man’s person, and he remembers Harry saying that in the grand scheme of things his record doesn’t even matter. But here’s Harry, throwing it back in his face and using it as a way to manipulate prejudiced detectives into doing something they will fail at, anyway.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Harry glares at Eggsy. “Eggsy, you know damn well I don’t care about the record. Look, let’s get back to the car before you create an even bigger spectacle.”  
_ _ _

“I’m not creating the spectacle!” Eggsy folds his arms, about ready to really yell in the middle of a semi crowded street in broad daylight. “Just answer my fucking question, Harry. Does your _fucking_ record say anything about why I did what I did?”

“It certainly,” Harry spits back, “doesn’t say anything about Brandon.”

___ _

___Eggsy stares back at him, his heart thundering away a mile a minute in his ears, before spinning on his heel and storming back to the car. Even he knows now that running away will fuck him over more than help him in the long run.  
_ _ _

___ _

___*  
_ _ _

___ _

___15 July 2006, 12:00am  
_ _ _

___ _

___The day doesn’t start out particularly great. Eggsy wakes up with a scratchy throat and a constantly dripping nose, head pounding away like the godawful marching band in his school. His mum’s out cold again so he washes and feeds Daisy, wrinkling his nose at the permanent stench of cigarettes and drugs in the apartment. When he gets her settled in again, Dean storms into the living room demanding to be fed and shoves Eggsy into the counter when he suggests that he go get it himself. With a stinging, throbbing hip Eggsy reluctantly makes him breakfast and tries to wake his mum up with little success- last night must have been particularly rough for her to be still out like that. It is then that he realizes he’s late for school and with a muttered curse, slings his backpack on and shoves a biscuit in his mouth before promptly rushing out the door.  
_ _ _

___ _

___While on the subway and praying that it goes a mite faster he suddenly remembers that he’d left his fucking homework on the table and curses out loud, scaring the living daylights out of the elderly woman next to him. He’s already running late but there’s a lost kid crying for his mother so feeling his heart sink at the thought of a definitive detention Eggsy helps him to the station control and stays with him, playing rock paper scissors until his mother arrives and profusely thanks Eggsy. The loving look in her eyes as she cradles her son- absent from Eggsy’s own mother’s eyes lately- leaves Eggsy in a terrible mood as he makes his way back, dipping even further at his teacher yelling at him for being late for the fifth time in a row and assigning him detention all the way til seven.  
_ _ _

___ _

___His English Lit teacher is kind to everyone and especially to him for being one of her top students, but there’s no mistaking the disappointed curl to her lips as Eggsy sheepishly tells her he’s forgotten his homework. It makes something in his chest and eyes ache awfully fierce and he trudges back to his seat, defeated and depressed. His mood drops even further when the gym teacher, Mr Smithers, corners him and asks him if he wants to join track.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“No can do, sir,” Eggsy says morosely. “My- ah, stepfather won’t allow it.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You only have gymnastics on your record, and you gave it up at fourteen,” Mr Smithers says, his tone conveying how much of a bad decision he thought that was. “University admissions look at your extra curriculum, you know. You’re a terrific runner, besides.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___The praise should lift Eggsy’s mood, but it will all remain untapped potential- Dean will balk at the idea of paying for extra uniforms and training and throw Eggsy out on his arse. At the rate Dean’s going on about unpaid expenses and burdens on the household, university applications are a far off dream too. Eggsy’s better off signing up for the marines, which is his plan for life post-secondary- no matter what his mother says. “Dean doesn’t believe in that,” Eggsy says helplessly. He can’t exactly say that his stepfather will beat him up if he even considers an extra activity but from the look on Mr Smithers’ face, the thought has definitely crossed his mind.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I can talk to him, if you like,” Mr Smithers says, frowning, and Eggsy pales.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“It’s no need, sir- I’ll talk to him,” he says hastily, and beats it out of there before Mr Smithers can say anything else. Dean getting found out would mean his mother getting proclaimed as an unfit mother by social services and would mean him getting lost to the foster system. He may not have the best relationship with his mother yet- but by god he loves her. He can’t bear to lose her- not yet. The bruises on his hip and ribs sting, but they don’t sting more than the fear of losing his family and his friends.  
_ _ _

___ _

___His cold gets worse, and Jamal hands him a tissue paper to blow his nose in while they sit at the back of Algebra and he tells him about what Mr Smithers had offered. “You did the right thing,” Jamal says, scribbling down the answer to the question on the board. He’s the only one doing so- on the other end of the classroom, Camille Evans applies a new coat of lipstick, throwing Eggsy a wink when he looks her way. The entire row in front of them is knocked out cold, and Ryan’s playing Cobra Strike on his phone below the desk. The entire classroom is essentially dead- the perfect place for a tough conversation to be held. “Mr Smithers would have snitched on Dean.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I would be rid of an abusive dickhead, at least,” Eggsy says, idly doodling on his paper.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Your mum as well, and she makes a mean lasagna,” Jamal says, and adds, “when sober,” at the look on Eggsy’s face.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I was great in gymnastics,” Eggsy says sullenly. “On track for the Olympics.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“It could be worse,” Jamal says, still scribbling. He may be worse at Algebra than Eggsy, but he’s a hell of a lot more hardworking and that makes all the difference in the world. Jamal says it’s because he doesn’ have wankers like Dean Baker hanging around all hours of the day but Eggsy knows better- some people are just made of more solid stuff and Eggsy’s definitely not one of them. He sniffles and sneezes into the tissue again, startling the girl next to him.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“How could it be worse?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“For one,” Jamal says, flipping over the paper, “you could be Brandon.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy shuts up at that. Two years ago Brandon had told him that he was joining his Da’s drug ring- two years on and he’s quit school to peddle drugs around the estate full time. Eggsy had begged him to reconsider, both Jamal and Ryan declaring him beyond their grasp- only for Brandon to fix Eggsy with a searing look and say, “It’s this or die from my sad excuse of a Dad beating the shit out of me.” That had shut Eggsy up real fast too.  
_ _ _

___ _

___After school he has to report to the library for detention. Stuck in a musty room without anything to do other than look at the fucking clock, he rots away and almost falls asleep five times. His hip starts to throb again from sitting still for too long, and he drums his fingers away on the table erratically, heart pumping too loud in his ears until the teacher overseeing the detention coughs once and glowers at him.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Suffice it to say that the day has gone from bad to really, really worse. He’s left dragging his weary body home, hating Dean and his mother and Brandon and Jamal and Mr Smithers and himself. An endless cycle of vitriol and resentment resounding in his head like a fucking church bell, over and over again until he’s ready to jump off a building to get his brain to stop. His mother texts him to buy takeout for dinner because she’s too hungover to cook and rolling his eyes, he stops by the Mexican place one bus ride away from the estates.  
_ _ _

___ _

___The shit doesn’t hit the fan then. It doesn’t hit the fan when he reaches home and Dean demands half his share. It doesn’t hit the fan when he backtalks and gets his face slapped and his mother pushes her share to him instead, her fist squeezing his wrist in warning. It doesn’t hit the fan when Dean’s fellow dogs, Rottie and Poodle and god knows who else crowd into the small apartment, chasing Eggsy back into his own room. It doesn’t even hit the fan when he hears a crash and enters the living room to find out Rottie has knocked over one of the few frames they have of Lee Unwin, due to his gesturing like an idiot.  
_ _ _

___ _

___It hits the fan when at midnight, Eggsy hears a knock on his window.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Fuck,” he swears, slipping off the bed in shock. Somehow, he gets his feet underneath him and straightening up, walks cautiously over to the window. One look reassures him it’s just Brandon.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“For god’s sake, Brandon,” Eggsy sighs, “the door is right there.” He clicks his mouth shut though, at when he catches a look of Brandon’s face. The left side is all swollen up and bloody, with his left eye sporting some spectacular purple bruising. There’s a long scratch on his right cheek and when his eyes travel down, he can clearly see Brandon listing to the left, hand beneath his shirt to support what seems like bruised ribs.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You and I both know we can’t use the door right now,” Brandon says, exhausted. “Come on, help me up before someone busts me.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___There’s a million questions on his tongue but he knows better than to ask Brandon any of them. Instead, Eggsy helps him up as he somehow clambers over the window, latching it shut behind him. Heaving a pain-filled sigh, Brandon sits carefully on the bed, hand braced against his ribs.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Stay here, I’ll get- stuff,” Eggsy says hastily, ignoring Brandon’s sardonic “where else will I go?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___In the living room, Dean and his goons are conked out, empty beer cans and wine bottles all around them. Michelle’s sequestered away in her room- she’d turned in for an early night. Creeping to the kitchen, Eggsy obtains two ice packs and a bottle of ibuprofen before rushing back equally quietly.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“There was a gunfight,” Brandon admits, when he’s leaning against the pillows with the ice pack pressed tightly against his bruised ribs. “My Da’s in charge of the drug ring, right- so he’s having a conversation with the other high-ranking members when this woman walks in- all dolled up in a bright yellow dress and the kind of bright as shit lipstick that Camille girl from your school likes to wear.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Camille does love bright colours,” Eggsy says, but his mind is spinning on the inside. This character doesn’t sound like one who walks in on gang meetings on a regular basis.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“She announced that she’ll be controlling the drug ring from now on. Said that she single handedly controls the entire drug trade in America and she’ll be doing so here too, no problem. Da didn’t like it, obviously, so he stands up and tries to take a shot at her and-” His voice trails off, eyes focused somewhere behind Eggsy. So far his voice has been dead, no inflections whatsoever with a haunted look in his eyes. It is clear that whatever this woman has done, it will haunt him for the rest of his life. Eggsy swallows, covering Brandon’s knee with his hand. Brandon still doesn’t look at him at the touch.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Da missed because one of her goons pushed her out of the way, then shot him in the face,” Brandon continues tonelessly. “Then it was just all out war. I was fighting with one of the goons- he kicked me in the face and punched my ribs. When I came to it was pretty clear who had won. I ran away, and came here.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy says nothing, heart thumping. He’s not familiar with the mechanics of how drug rings and gangs work. He’s always stayed out of that business because he knows he’s not built for it nor does he particularly froth at the mouth for it- the constant assaulting, running and threatening. The last time the leadership of the gang had had a sudden and violent change like that, though, was when Eggsy was five. He still remembers his Da shuttering all the windows and doors close, his mum pale in the living room hugging him close. They’d been terrified that something would happen- a riot in the streets, or someone popping by to threaten them, or something else as equally terrifying. Nothing had happened though, and over the next few months they had relaxed. Either way, three years later his father had gone for a tour in Afghanistan and then blown himself up by jumping on an IED to protect his mates.  
_ _ _

___ _

___This, however, is a completely different matter.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Who’s this woman?” Eggsy asks, playing with the dirty material of Brandon’s jeans on his knee. There’s an inkling in his mind now, that this is the reason why Dean had stayed in today. Loyalty to Dean meant nothing- saving his own skin meant something considerably more. Most of the men in the ring were made of the same material as Dean anyway- the particularly cowardly kind. It’s no wonder that they lost- this woman must have got to a good number of the lot.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Introduced herself as Poppy Adams,” Brandon sighs. “Looked like the typical eighties American sweetheart, you know- spoke like it too. But something in her eyes- she just looked fucked in the head. The kind you don’t mess with.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy’s not in the drug ring yet, but he’ll be soon. It’s only a matter of time before Dean gets sick of his arse hanging around the house after school. He doesn’t fancy working for this Poppy chick, if she looked as terrifying as she sounds.  
_ _ _

___ _

___He fiddles with the material of the jeans some more before exhaling noisily through his mouth, looking up. Brandon’s looking at him, a steady dark gaze filled with want. Slow as molasses, he lifts a hand up to cradle Eggsy’s cheek with it. The ice pack falls to the side of the bed, ignored and melted.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You’re hurt,” Eggsy reminds him, heart thumping. This- this is new territory, and Eggsy’s under no delusions. Brandon’s father has just died, and his whole life has gone through a whole number of upheavals over a matter of minutes- Eggsy’s just someone to fuck into and forget.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I know,” Brandon whispers. His palm is warm, and slightly clammy- probably from the pain.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You’ll regret this in the morning,” Eggsy whispers, equally as soft. If Dean comes barging in now, he’s fucked. The man is as homophobic as they come.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I won’t,” Brandon says. “Trust me, Eggsy.” His eyes, dark and pleading, say something else- they ask for someone to trust now that his whole world has been ripped away from beneath his feet. Brandon waits, clearly for Eggsy’s consent.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You have to talk about this,” Eggsy says forcefully. “Your father, Brandon-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I know, I know,” Brandon says desperately. There’s a thread of tears underscoring his voice. All Eggsy needs to do to unravel it is to probe further. “Just- please help me forget,” Brandon whispers, then, and Eggsy knows he can’t do that to him now. He has to be here for Brandon, in any way possible.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Okay,” Eggsy whispers, and when Brandon pushes him down into the pillows, ice pack digging into the small of his back, thinks that now the shit has really, really plastered itself onto the fan._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip I'm really sorry for the late update, life caught up to me. this chapter may seem unfinished and that is because it had to be split up into two chapters. also, I really apologise to any minions fans but I hate that fucking thing lol I have a horror story related to it. ALSO, thank you for all the lovely comments and kudoses!!! they make me write faster so keep them coming XD


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of a panic attack

24 February 2014, 10:30 am

They spend the entire ride to Kingsman Records on silence. Eggsy, fuming, fills up the entire time glaring out the car window, staring unseeingly at the trees whizzing by. It’s anger, initially, at Harry for assuming and referencing things about his past so callously and then throwing out Brandon like a dagger meant to hurt- something he’d assumed would never be used against himself. Then it becomes anger against himself for being so reticent about Brandon and everything that had gone down as a result, because god knows he wants so hard to tell Harry the truth but for some reason the words just refuse to come. He doesn’t look at Harry for the entire duration of the ride but he knows that if he does, it’ll be Harry clenching his jaw sullenly, holding himself stiff and furious.

When they reach, Harry tells Kay that the rest of her day is off. “Go have a break- visit Ector if you want to,” he says, leaning into the window. Eggsy tries not to feel too resentful at the fact that Kay can visit Ector- he’s Ector’s friend too, isn’t he? At least, after last night he sure hopes he is.

In response to Harry’s order, Kay looks uncertain. Her eyes flick to Eggsy and back and yet again, Eggsy tries not to feel too resentful- she just had to contend with about an hour of bridling, crackling tension between her boss and her client. She was just looking out for Harry. He can’t fault someone for looking out for Harry’s best interests. “Are you sure?” she asks. “I could stay and be a second-”

“I’m sure,” Harry says. “Tell me where you’ll park, and pass the keys to Lana at the receptionist. Pellinore will drive him back today.”

Kay’s frown deepens. She wipes a stray strand of hair from her forehead, focusing her large grey eyes on Eggsy shrewdly, who tries not to sigh. “Arthur, I really honestly think-”

“Then it’s for the best that I’m not interested in what you think,” Harry says shortly. “Have the rest of the day off, Kay- that’s an order.”

Kay blanches in response, and Eggsy feels slightly sorry for her. To her credit, she knows when to beat a strategic retreat. Instead of arguing Harry’s order, she simply presses her lips together and nods, backing the car out of the driveway. Harry does not wait to see if she makes it to the parking lot- instead, he gestures impatiently to the doorway of the building, a stormy look on his face. For a while, Eggsy considers not acknowledging Harry but his anger exhausts himself- it’s draining to feel irritated at a man who’s only trying to do his job, no matter his ill choice of words. Eggsy certainly isn’t making it easier for him, withholding key information about Brandon.

Harry’s presence at his back is a stony, weighty thing, looming behind him like a threat or a ticking time bomb. Once they enter the lobby, though, Harry swiftly overtakes him, leading the way down to a narrow corridor leading to the loo. Eggsy, for a wild minute, thinks that maybe Harry’s in dire need of a wee but that thought is dashed when Harry reaches one arm out and yanks him into the toilet. Once in, he locks the door and turns to face Eggsy, who rubs his arm in a disgruntled manner.

“A bit of warning would have been nice,” Eggsy snaps, rubbing his arm irritably. He casts a glance around- all of the cubicles are empty. Harry must have checked it before pulling him in here.

“Warning? I was hardly going to drag you here so that we could answer nature’s call together,” Harry retorts, eyebrow raised. He leans back against the door and gazes intensely at Eggsy, the storminess fading away from his face. It leaves his face unreadable and impassive- at least with the anger, Eggsy had known what Harry had been feeling. The switch makes him feel uneasy, even more so when he realizes the door is locked and there’s no escape.

“Pulled me here to yell at me?” Eggsy asks defeatedly. To his surprise, Harry shakes his head.

“No,” Harry says quietly. “I want to apologise. I shouldn’t have called you a criminal- I know why it grates at you like that. While you were brooding in the car, looking out the window like a bad outtake from an eighties romance novel-”

“I wasn’t-” Eggsy argues, but subsides at Harry’s pleading look.

“- I made a call to Merlin. The petty theft, the solicitation- you only did what your stepfather told you to, didn’t you? That bit hadn’t shown in the record.”

It wouldn’t have. For the trial, all they’d needed as evidence was the shaky video provided by the phone Eggsy had hidden behind a vase before Dean had stormed in and plunged that broken bottle into him. He’d sent Roxy to collect it later- Michelle had been all sorts of furious and devastated, at the fact that her son had been scheming to trap Dean into a legal nightmare. Eggsy still isn’t sure whom the fury had been directed at.

“I told you a record only says the partial truth. I didn’t take my own advice, and I apologise for that. You didn’t deserve the weight of my mistaken assumptions,” Harry says, the expression on his face one of helpless anger. In the face of such repentant guilt, Eggsy feels the last of his anger give way, seeping away like sand from between his fingers. He still keeps silent though, biting his bottom lip because he knows Harry’s not done yet, and he has an inkling what he’s about to say.

“Having said that,” Harry says, clearing his throat and stepping forward til he’s touching the line of intimacy, “I only assumed as such because I had no clue about what really happened. I’m in the dark here, Eggsy. You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to but without all the information, I’m bound to make mistakes and fuck up.” Harry breathes out noisily through his mouth. Even his breath is divine, peppermint and cinnamon scented. “Such as today.”

“I’m sorry too,” Eggsy says, his own voice small. “For overreacting.” Harry’s right, of course- he always fucking is. He’s in the dark here because Eggsy has an idea of who X may be, or what X may want but Harry doesn’t. Eggsy withholding information like that for the sake of his own mental health only works to a certain extent and that extent has run its course. Because of Eggsy being a selfish twat, Ector’s now laid up in a hospital and Harry’s uncertain of himself. That stops now, Eggsy decides. He’s going to say what he should have said from the moment Harry had asked him if he had something in his past possibly connected to X. He’s going to tell Harry what he needs to know.

Harry opens his mouth, but before he can say something Eggsy bulldozes right over him. “Brandon Demba was my best friend,” he says, stepping back a few inches and turning his back on him. It makes him feel like the center of a bad B rated drama but if he continues to look into Harry’s steady brown eyes he may lose his nerve and chicken out. “I met him when I was ten, at my mum’s wedding to Dean. His dad controlled the drug ring that terrorized the estates, and Dean was one of his followers. The one at the top was always a menace, an absolute terror and Mr Demba was no exception- Brandon attended the wedding with a sprained ankle.”

To his credit, Harry stays silent. Eggsy turns back round again and Harry’s looking right at him, his entire countenance radiating calm with his easy stance and his palms loose at his sides. He was probably doing it on purpose, Eggsy thinks, to make him feel less like he’s about to hurl.

“When we were fourteen, Brandon had to join the ring,” Eggsy says quietly. “Peddle drugs to the younger kids at school, that sort of bullshit. That was- around the same time Dean had suggested I pull my weight round the house. With his fists,” he adds, thinking about how Dean had slapped him and called him a waste of space. Unwin blood to Dean meant nothing if it didn’t bring in cold hard cash and cold tasteless beer. Those were the days Eggsy had perfected his pickpocketing skills, picking the wallets of rich corporate businessmen who probably wouldn’t miss what had been stolen anyway.

Harry waits, very charitably as he gathers his thoughts again. He swallows noisily before continuing, “he was a good man, Brandon. He hated it, but his father was his bloody boss. He quit school a year later, and no one even stopped in to wonder what the hell was going on.” Eggsy grimaces, remembering what had happened. Brandon hadn’t been in the same school as him, so it’d been a week before he’d realized exactly what happened. It hadn’t been Brandon that had told him about it- it had been one of his friends in that school, dropping it in casual conversation. The argument he’d had with Brandon after that had almost torn their friendship asunder.

“And then?”

“Living with an abusive stepdad, the ghost of your dad and a negligent drug addict of a mother takes its toll. After college, I joined the marines and was with them for two years,” Eggsy says. “My mum got pregnant with Daisy and I came back.” He pauses, swallowing. There’s an awful lump in his throat because this is where the story is coming to an end and it is the part that is the hardest to tell. In fact-

Harry’s still looking at him, eyes wide. Eggsy knows for a definite fact that this part of the story is something no one knows about. No one, that is, save for him and two other people- one of whom is dead while the other, promoted to being a permanent consultant at the FBI. There’s no need for Harry to know the whole truth- just the piece that will keep him knowledgeable enough to protect Eggsy. It will be a lie by omission but Harry will take it as the truth and that will be enough. If Harry ever found out about what Eggsy had really done, whatever that is building up between them will collapse. And besides- there is much more at stake here than just Eggsy’s stalker. Eggsy doesn’t want to save his own life, just to condemn others.

_Like that is what this is really about,_ a snide little voice whispers in his head. _You’re a coward, plain and simple._

“Eggsy?”

His mind made up, he swallows noisily before continuing. “When I was 21, Brandon- there was a fire. A warehouse fire set off by the feds in one of the ring’s strongholds. Whole place went up in flames- no survivors.” He can’t think of it, not now if he wants to avoid a panic attack. He keeps his mind dangerously blank. Harry is frowning. “The warehouse fire beside Rowley estate? I’d heard, when I was in Buckingham- there were no survivors, were there? 25 gang members, dead- no one found out what happened. My boss tried, but somehow it was out of their jurisdiction.”

“Yes,” Eggsy whispers. “I- I still-” his throat is closing up. Closing his eyes and counting to three in his head, he waits for his heartbeat to slow before lying, his voice hardly stronger than a trembling whistle, “I still don’t know what happened.”

He’s expecting Harry to do any number of things. Poke deeper, ask more questions, grab his shoulders and shake him demanding more. What he doesn’t expect is for Harry to envelop him in a warm embrace, his face pressed into Harry’s chest and Harry’s chin resting lightly on his head. Stunned, but not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Eggsy raises his arms and hugs him back tightly.

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs, “for telling me this. It took a great deal of courage for you to do that.”

Eggsy snorts. “Why do you say that?” Harry’s making it seem like he’s just climbed Mount Everest.

“You’re trembling,” Harry points out lightly. And sure enough, he is- little shakes of his hand where it rests at the nape of Harry’s neck, damp with sweat. It should be disgusting, and Harry should step away, affix his suit back with a clearing of his throat, discreetly wipe at the patches of perspiration left on his body by Eggsy’s anxiety but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues to hold him, one hand on his shoulder blades and the other one, large and warm at the small of his back. Eggsy breathes in and out, and wills his hands to stop.

“Now we can widen the possibility of who X can be,” Harry says lightly, “from just within Kingsman to members of your drug ring.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Eggsy says, sighing. “See, all those who had died in that fire- they were the best of the lot. Not good people, but cunning and competent. Whoever was left- they never managed to gain control like that again.” Dean had tried, but he hadn’t had the courage, charisma or chops to control a gang dealing in drugs or black market goods, never mind an international drug ring. There was a reason why he had forced Eggsy into solicitation post the warehouse fire, after all.

“We will figure it out,” Harry says. He steps out of Eggsy’s grasp and Eggsy tries very hard not to sorely miss his warmth. Of course, he fails. “At least now, I won’t be caught unawares.”

Eggsy rocks on the balls of his feet, slightly sheepish. He knows that him shouting at the crowd yesterday had shocked Harry badly- he just hadn’t known the extent of it, until now. Harry has a small smile playing on his lips as he looks at him, and that more than anything tells Eggsy the relief he’s feeling. At knowing something now, at having the knowledge of guarding himself and his charge against future disasters like this one.

It also serves to heighten the guilt Eggsy’s experiencing at not telling the whole truth.

“Come on, I was supposed to take you to Merlin half an hour ago,” Harry says. As he follows Harry out the door, Eggsy tries his best to swallow the guilt down.

*

24 February 2014, 5:00 pm

They are taking a break from recording when Eggsy notices the invitation. Gilded in gold, it’s lying on a stack of envelopes that one of the errand boys had brought in. The two techies are playing a mobile game on their phone while Roxy’s scarfing down a sandwich and Merlin’s muttering to himself while replaying one of the recorded versions of the song Eggsy’s recorded today so no one notices when Eggsy walks over and thumbs at it curiously, picking it up.

“What’s this?” he asks, and activity around him comes to a screeching halt.

Merlin marches over, picking the invitation right out of Eggsy’s hand and throws it back on the pile. “Just a charity event. It’s to raise money for victims of domestic abuse- nothing important.”

Eggsy’s eyebrows rise all the way up and he grabs the invitation up, ignoring Merlin’s squawk. “I know this event,” he says, looking at the title. “The Meredith Lee foundation- they provide funding for services for domestic abuse. They do good work, James is going with his husband.” He remembers James telling him about it a month or so back. He checks the date and sure enough, it’s only two days away.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he demands, waving the invitation in Merlin’s face. Merlin looks unimpressed, stepping out of range of the card.

“Because you have a lot of things to do,” Merlin retorts. “We’re behind schedule already, only two songs so far have been recorded. I’m not happy with this version either, you need a re-do.”

Roxy’s paused her scarfing down, looking slightly anxious as her eyes flit between Merlin and Eggsy. The techies are still on their phones, not paying them any attention because by all means this is a pretty run-of-the-mill occurrence; they argue and then they get on with it by a compromise on both ends. There should be no reason for Roxy to look so flinty, like she’s about to step in and handle the situation herself. Eggsy watches as Merlin sends her a warning look, probably for her not to intervene, and wonders why he does so until it clicks.

“Oh my god,” he says accusingly, pointing a finger at Merlin. “This isn’t about my fucking schedule, is it?”

To his credit, Merlin looks slightly guilty but no less firm in his decision. “No, it isn’t, and that’s not the point, Eggsy-”

“Then what is?” Eggsy demands. “Why did you…” His voice trails off, as he notices the stack of envelopes on the desk. Frowning, he puts the gilded invitation down and picks each invitation up, one by one. Each of them to a new charity event, or yet another annual gala. There are even some to awards shows- he recognizes teen choice and mtv awards. He’s only been gone one day, this can’t have built up over the span of 24 hours. “This- I missed all these?” Eggsy asks. “How the hell did I miss these?”

Merlin only looks guiltier, and quickly gathers the pile out of Eggsy’s reach. He dumps them into a stray cardboard box below the table. The techies have stopped their mobile games, staring at Eggsy and Merlin with comically wide eyes.

“They’re not important,” Merlin says quickly. “What’s important is for you to focus on your album, and rehearse these songs, nothing else. Eggsy-”

“Were you _hiding_ these?” Eggsy asks, voice embarrassingly high. “What the hell, Merlin?” Over the year and a half he’s been employed at Kingsman he’s started to view Merlin as more than just his boss. Never mind that he knows it isn’t mutual and his position here is equivalent to a ticking time bomb but he’d started to really trust Merlin and to find out that perhaps, Merlin hadn’t been repaying the value of that trust in kind- it’s more than earth shattering.

Merlin reddens and Roxy coughs, and Eggsy knows it isn’t just a perhaps. It’s a definitely.

“I wouldn’t have gone to every single one of them,” Eggsy snaps, incensed, “but I would have gone to the ones that mattered! Why the hell did you hide them from me?”

“It was a joint decision,” Roxy says, striding forward and glancing at Merlin uncertainly. “It’s- you do have very limited time on your hands, Eggsy-”

“Cut that bullshit,” Eggsy says abruptly, folding his arms and glaring at both of them. The techies lean forward, riveted by the show unfolding before them. “Last year I didn’t want to go to anything and you guys made me go to that bloody awards show full of snotty celebrities right in the middle of recording my debut album. What made you hide all these invitations?” Six days’ worth, in fact, judging by the size of them.

“You want to know why?” Merlin retorts, seemingly having found his fire again. “It’s because you were shot at the day before yesterday. You were ambushed by a crowd seemingly with whoever wanting to off you being right in the middle of it, and to add on to that you have been getting steady death threats for a month. I refuse to risk the lives of any of my singers, be it a serious threat or a prank. And this, Eggsy, has gone very much beyond the realm of possibility of it being a prank.” He leans against the table, scowling very formidably at Eggsy. It doesn’t budge him.

“I would have wanted to know!” Eggsy replies, scowling right back. “You and Roxy going behind my back to- to control where I go- that ain’t right, Merlin!”

“It’s not right, that may be true,” Merlin says fiercely, “but you must have been born with a cracked skull for a head if you think for even a second that I am willing to take any chances when it comes to the safety of those who work for Kingsman.” His folded arms make him appear even more foreboding and imposing than normal, making Eggsy swallow a bit with nerves. One look at Roxy, who’s biting her lip in guilt, is enough to tell him that she understands what Merlin has completely missed.

“Merlin,” Eggsy says through gritted teeth, “I would have agreed to not going if you had just told me about it.”

“Would you?” Merlin asks quietly. His eyes are deathly serious, his eyebrows drawn together in an upsetting mirage. From the look of him he’s about to touch on something that he wouldn’t normally discuss and Eggsy involuntarily tenses, the cords of his neck going tight with tension and his heart beating triple time. Anything that makes Merlin look like the headmaster of a primary school about to give his students a severe lashing for misbehaving constantly is bad news and Eggsy does not want any part in hearing it, thanks. Roxy, off to the side, utters a quiet, “Oh shit,” and if these were other circumstances Eggsy would have never heard her.

He does so, and it is for that reason that he looks at her. She looks upset too, pressing her lips together in a tight frown, a warning in her eyes as she gazes intently at Merlin. There’s no doubt here- Roxy knows about whatever the hell Merlin is on now.

“Of course I would,” Eggsy chooses to say instead. “I’ve never stepped a single toe out of line all this time in Kingsman. You warned me about that, remember?” It’s a year and a half old but the memory’s as clear as a bright cinema screen- Merlin leaning over Eggsy as he put his pen to the contract paper, telling him to do as he says from now on. “You are different from the usual mould, and nothing comes for free for anyone- but it goes double for you,” he had said, his eyebrows drawn in one line. “Countless of people in this company are waiting for you to trip up and fall so that they can promptly kick you out. Don’t give them a reason to.” His voice had been deadly serious but Eggsy had known what Merlin had been trying to tell him. He as himself wasn’t enough to be a good artiste of repute within Kingsman. In short, he had to become someone worthy of press conferences and the snide gaze of a few hundred snotty toffs. He had tried, god how he had tried, but it hadn’t really embedded itself into his skin until that day when he had attempted to tell Merlin about getting nominated for the Grammys and instead had overheard Chester King tearing him to nothing but his background.

“And that _is_ the problem!” Merlin yells, throwing his hands in the air. He’s irate and furious, at his wit’s end, the crow’s feet even more defined in a scowl that twists his handsome face into something weary and exhausted and very telling of his age. “You do nothing but what you’re told, it’s- it’s like you’ve-”

“Completely suppressed your personality to a mere shadow,” Roxy suggests, and when Eggsy turns his betrayed gaze on her she stays resolute, eyes slightly apologetic but jawline firm and tensed. This has been a long time coming, it’s been stewing in their heads all this while and now it’s all coming out in a miasma of wild emotion.

“The only way I can gauge what you’re feeling is when you have submitted the lyrics of a song to us or when I catch you off guard. Other than that, you’re a closed book to everyone you meet, Eggsy. Like a- blank slate,” Merlin says agitatedly. Eggsy takes a step back, feeling like he’s been hit over the head by a brick because- because it’s true, he just never expected anyone to take issue with it or find it offensive because isn’t that what they want? For him to stay on the good side of the tracks?

“You told me to, Merlin,” Eggsy says. “Chester King was looking for a reason to kick me out and you told me not to give him one.” Every limb is frozen and his mouth is moving on autopilot- it is the worst feeling ever, he thinks, to be rooted to the spot and be confronted by something you never expected to happen. “I did and I’ve regretted it ever since, because- look at you, Eggsy,” Merlin says, exasperated. “You’re not yourself. Roxy is right, you’re a shadow. The flickering, faint ones, in broad daylight, that can hardly be seen.”

“And I thought that was the point,” Eggsy snaps, incensed. He takes a further step back and something behind Merlin’s eyes trembles, like it’s on the edge of the precipice. “No one wanted rough-side-of-the- tracks-Eggsy in anything but name.” Every terrible fad is more sensationalized the further away from the individual it is and to the roaring crowds of the world, Eggsy’s past is a terrible fad. A trend, to gape at but never to inspect with scrutiny for fear of awakening something.

“Eggsy, _Eggsy _-” Merlin strides forward, grabbing Eggsy’s hands in his own and looking deep into his eyes. It’s uncomfortable, and Eggsy looks away, trying to yank his hands away but Merlin holds tight and fast, his vice grip unrelenting. “Eggsy, you toed the line so well that when someone was threatening you over menacing notes you never told anyone for fear of crossing it. That’s not normal- not at all.”__

“Of course it’s not,” Eggsy snaps, half angry and half pleading. Roxy’s silent, her eyes wide as she looks at Eggsy. Eggsy shifts her gaze to Merlin who’s still holding on like he thinks Eggsy’s a frightened rabbit who will scurry away once he releases him. “But I’m doing what I can to stay here.” This is temporary, Eggsy doesn’t say but tries to scream within his own mind instead so that somehow, somehow Merlin will read it off his eyes, and I’m trying to make it permanent.

“I should have told you this from the start,” Merlin says softly, softening his grip until Eggsy’s hands fall away, “but you have a place with us indefinitely, Eggsy. You’re not going anywhere.”

“No, I don’t,” Eggsy snaps. “Chester King wasn’t even willing to let me in until you put your career on the line for me. I don’t have a place, Merlin, not here with the sons of dukes and musicians and people who obviously greased their way through-” he bites off the end of the sentence with a click of his teeth, snapping his mouth shut as Roxy presses her lips together before turning her head away, but not before she can hide the flash of hurt in her eyes. He wants to say something but it seems like he’s all out of words, for once.

“Roxy and I hid the invitations because we thought you would feel obligated to go as a representative of Kingsman Records,” Merlin says. There’s a defeated tint to his voice, as he leans back against the table. “We wanted you safe, because X would definitely use one of these events as a way to get to you. We didn’t want you in danger, if we could help it.”

__

__“You could have told me,” Eggsy says helplessly, but he’s aware that what he’s saying doesn’t count. He knows now, why Merlin had hid this from him. He can’t be trusted with his own safety, essentially- looking at Merlin’s eyes, severe but with a hint of desperation, Eggsy wonders at how long he’d known. Why he’d kept this hidden, and whether this had been the real reason behind hiring Harry- not the notes, not the threats but because within Kingsman, Eggsy had become as vulnerable as a day-old kitten._ _

__

__They’re silent, the techies staring wide eyed between them and Roxy still focusing her gaze on a far off spot in the wall. The air is fraught and heavy with the weight of what has gone unspoken. It makes something in Eggsy’s chest hurt and ache, a tight restless thing that’s seeping away his energy to confront this altogether unwanted revelation that he’s been forced to face. “I- I need some air,” he stutters out, and then as Merlin starts to say, “No, wait-” retorts with a caustic, “I’ll be back, I just need some goddamn air Merlin,” and shoves his way out the door._ _

__

__Harry is just outside it, leaning on the opposite wall looking gorgeous as ever. His hair is perfectly swept to one side, his eyes scanning the surroundings in a practiced manner. They widen when they catch sight of Eggsy closing the door of the studio behind him. “Is everything okay?”_ _

__

__“No,” Eggsy mutters, dragging a hand across his face. He feels grimy after the argument, torn between going to the loo to splash water on his face or the roof to get away from being cooped up in a tiny space with limited breathing space. A tough dilemma, but the roof wins out- the restless panic stirs fitfully in his gut, cloying and cumbersome. “I just- I’m heading up to the roof, I need a bit of fresh air. I’ll come back down, don’t worry.”_ _

__

As he starts off down the corridor leading to the fire escape stairs that lead to the roof, there’s the sound of evenly placed steps and a warmth at his back, signaling that Harry’s following him. “For Pete’s sake, Harry,” Eggsy snaps, not looking back. “Is it too much to ask to be left alone for five fucking seconds?” “Yes,” Harry says shortly. “The last time I let you go you were shot at.”

“So you’re going to do your best impression of a fucking parasite?” Eggsy asks. He’s distantly aware that he’s also, doing his level best impression of a fucking asshole the likes of which only Charlie can assume on a daily basis, but the panic in his gut overrides all rational thought. If he doesn’t get to the roof, he may lose his temper at Harry, and won’t _that be a sight._

__

__

“As part of the new security measures,” Harry says evenly, not rising to the bait. “You’re heading to the roof, I assume?”

__

__Eggsy stops in his tracks and spins around on his heel. Harry stares back, his eyes wide and innocent. “You’re not going to stop me?” Eggsy asks uncertainly._ _

__

__“No,” Harry says. “We all need a moment’s reprieve. You’re just going to have yours in my presence, because any instance of you alone is an instance for X to capitalize on. As demonstrated two nights ago.”_ _

__

__“Fine,” Eggsy says, and continues his stride towards the lift. Infuriatingly enough, the man keeps pace with him all the way there- then again, the man does have longer legs. Once at the roof, Eggsy walks quickly over to the railing and leans over it, staring at the tiny cars below. Bit by bit, the panic lessens in his gut until it is diminished to a mere memory. The sight of a bird’s eye view of London may not calm those with acrophobia but it calms him, the scenery reminding him of when he used to climb to the rooftop of Rowley estate with Brandon and loiter there, talking about every single thing under the sun. Times like these, he really misses Brandon- his straightforwardness, pointed sarcasm and compassion._ _

__

__It’s about fifteen minutes or so of Eggsy just breathing deeply, staring out at the landscape of tall towering buildings and short trees strategically placed before Harry speaks. He straightens up, brushing invisible lint off the front of his jacket before saying, “All right now?”_ _

__

__“Yes,” Eggsy says. He pauses, before continuing, saying more sheepishly, “Sorry for snapping at you earlier.”_ _

__

__“I don’t hold it against you, you were obviously in terrible spirits,” Harry says, very gallantly. Against the setting sun, the brown edges of his hair light up like an inferno, a bonfire set alight. The grey streak running through the side of his head amidst all of that looks both defiant and elegant, a rebellious streak hiding beneath the veneer of elegance. It rather suits the man, Eggsy thinks._ _

__

__“Thank you for letting me go to the roof,” Eggsy adds. “Not a lot of bodyguards do that.” No one would actually, Eggsy suspects they usually just bully their clients back into the safe space for them. For all his railing against Harry for his protectiveness, Harry’s a better choice for him than the usual. Anyone else, and Eggsy would have gone spare within two seconds. Merlin knew what he had been doing, after all._ _

“Have a lot of bodyguards, do you,” Harry snorts. There’s a light pink flush to his neck, both endearing and alluring.

“No,” Eggsy says softly. “Just the one.” _Just you_ , he thinks.

Harry’s quiet after that, looking out at the sunset. They stand in companiable silence for a bit, Eggsy drawing a finger across the dust on the railing while Harry hums some tune- the Game of Thrones theme music, Eggsy realizes after a while with a snort. It’s comforting in a way standing with someone else never is; Eggsy doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with idle chatter, nor does he feel the need to sequester himself away in isolation. He’s doubly aware of Harry’s presence at his side, larger than life and dominating in its entirety but he’s not in the least discomfited by it.

“When you don’t feel the need to compensate for a lack of your own character,” his mother had once told him, way back before she had met Dean and Da was still alive, “you’ll realise you’ve met someone who will stay by your side forever.” She had sent his Da a look full of love before saying, “It can be your best friend too, even.”

Harry doesn’t feel like a best friend, Eggsy thinks. Harry feels like- something more.

“So what had happened in there?” Harry asks. “Why did you run out like the hounds of hell were set on you?”

___ _

___“I didn’t run out,” Eggsy says, affronted. “I walked out and shut the door very gently behind me.”_ _ _

___ _

___Harry’s skeptical eyebrow raise tells him all he needs to know about what Harry thinks of that particular statement. Huffing, Eggsy says, “I didn’t- I was in a panic, alright?”_ _ _

___ _

___“That you definitely were,” Harry says, leaning his back against the railing with both elbows balanced on it. He doesn’t seem concerned about the dust getting on his suit, tipping his head to the side to look at Eggsy. “What happened? Did someone say something? I bet it was that techie- Andy? Anderson-”_ _ _

___ _

___“Andrew, you mean,” Eggsy says, amused, as Harry simply sniffs. “No, I just- did you know, I’d been receiving invitations? To parties, and galas and stuff.” He feels ridiculous now, saying it out loud. All of this over a fucking gala invitation, he’s going to appear right like a tantrum having child to Harry._ _ _

___ _

___“No, I didn’t,” Harry says, frowning. “What about them? Did X say something again?”_ _ _

___ _

___“No, nothing like that,” Eggsy assures him, “it was just- well, Roxy and Merlin made the executive decision of hiding them from me. I only found out that they’d been doing so today.” He shifts his gaze to the scenery down below- he can just make out the shape of a black Sedan stopping, and what looks suspiciously like the silhouettes of Hugo and Lana, the receptionist, making out against a potted plant. “They told me that they’d been doing it for my own good, can you believe that? That I’m a hazard to my own health, or whatever, that I’m such a bootlicker I’d do anything to please the higher ups of Kingsman.”_ _ _

___ _

___Harry’s expression clears into one of sudden understanding, clarity setting deep within his brown eyes, and Eggsy’s confused for a second before he remembers that Merlin and Harry are best friends- they talk to each other. Ergo, Merlin has probably blabbered to Harry about how he saw Eggsy as a threat to his own safety. “He told you then,” Eggsy says defeatedly._ _ _

“We did talk about your- particularly fatalistic way of working at Kingsman,” Harry says carefully, “but he never told me about hiding the invitations. Nor did he tell me about receiving them in the first place.” He clears his throat, looking cautious and wary. “He was- _is_ \- very worried about you, Eggsy.”

“He lied to me!” Eggsy yelps. His voice is dangerously close to a whine and he has to pause, regroup his thoughts so that he avoids sounding like a complete child. “Look, if he’d just explained to me the reason for hiding the invitations, I would have been perfectly alright with it!”

“Do you _want_ to go to any of those galas?” Harry asks skeptically. Th question throws him for a loop and for a second, he just stares at Harry stupidly. He’d been so caught up in the ache of having his trust broken by Merlin and Roxy going behind his back, that he hadn’t even considered if he wanted to go or not.

“I- I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Eggsy says, taken aback momentarily. “I hate parties.” The social scene of London wasn’t one to scoff at- full of uptight sponsors and executives, with pockets full to bursting with green dollar bills and mouths full to the brim with cheap flavourless canapes. More irritating was the fact that everyone there could somehow convey the vibe of looking down their nose at him when they did the exact opposite. So spending three hours in a stiff tuxedo, watching politics play out before him, trying his hardest not to hurl the plate of little finger foods at everyone sneering at him? Not his idea of fun.

“So why are you angered?” Harry asks calmly. “They did you a favour.”

___ _

___“I am not- it’s about trust!” Eggsy splutters. He pushes off the railing to fold his arms across his chest, glaring at Harry. Harry does not look perturbed in the least by Eggsy’s raised voice, still leaning against the railing in an organized sprawl that looks like it belongs more on the cover of Vogue than on the dingy roof of a musical records building. “They went behind my back to- to hide invitations from me, all because they thought I was going to attend them anyway because apparently all I do is fluff the sensitivities of higher ups in this bloody building!”_ _ _

“So they did have good intentions,” Harry offers. “The process- or means thereof- may be flawed, but they didn’t want to hurt you per say, did they? All they wanted was to protect you.” He straightens up now, resting his back against the railing and frowning. “Can’t say I blame them- X could have easily gotten to you through one of these events.”

“But they could have _told_ me,” Eggsy says, his defense weakening in the face of Harry’s very well-reasoned explanation. “They seem to think that I would do anything to keep my position here, even risk my own safety.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Harry asks archly. The gleam in his eyes is irritatingly knowing and understanding and huffing, Eggsy looks away pointedly and rests his gaze on the skyline instead. Anything to avoid Harry’s all too knowing gaze. In response, all Harry does is sigh. “They love you and just wanted to protect you,” Harry says quietly. “Grant them this leeway, at least.”

___ _

___“I’m not a bootlicker,” Eggsy rushes to say. It’s what irks him the most, the fact that Merlin and Roxy may think he likes to suck up to those higher than him for promotions or a pay raise or whatever. He’s not that kind of guy, to swallow his own opinions or thoughts up whole to automatically make way for a cookie cutter personality designed to suit the tastes of the rich. Or more specifically, Chester King and his fellow merry band of equally snobbish producers. This though- this is different. He needs to keep this gig for as long as it will hold. “I just- Merlin and Roxy will never understand, but these people, they will judge me from their ivory towers for how I look and talk and act, and not for how I do my job. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon up my arse and in a place like this, apparently that’s what makes a man.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Merlin may understand more than you give him credit for,” Harry says gently. There’s that crinkle again, which appears whenever he smiles especially kindly. The warmth in his eyes sear right into Eggsy’s soul, digging a space for them solely. “I know for a fact that neither Merlin nor Roxy hold your background against you- or your behavior now.”_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy stays quiet. Harry looks as sincere as they come, his eyes wide and trusting and his lips parted in a show of innocence and trust. If Eggsy chooses not to trust him, he might as well choose not to trust anyone. Eggsy may be a lot of unsightly things, but one thing he is not is an idiot._ _ _

___ _

___“Eggsy,” Harry says softly. “They understand. They just want you safe. That’s all they want.”_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy swallows, and nods- a tiny shake of his head, but it makes Harry exhale in one fell swoop, his shoulders loosening in a relaxed hold. Eggsy hadn’t even noticed that they had been strained with tension in the first place- he opens his mouth to apologise, but thinks better of it._ _ _

___ _

___“Come on,” Harry says. “Better take you back to the studio.”_ _ _

___ _

___As they head for the lift that will take them down, Eggsy suddenly remembers what Harry had said before and says, “X wouldn’t have gotten to me at these events, anyway.”_ _ _

___ _

___Harry looks askance at him, expression suspicious. He looks like he’s preparing himself for a punchline- Eggsy bites the side of his cheek to prevent himself form laughing. “Dare I ask why?”_ _ _

___ _

___“Because you’ll be with me,” Eggsy says confidently. “Nothing can get to me when you’re here.” He continues walking for a few seconds before realizing he’s been walking alone. He turns behind to see Harry rooted to the spot, jaw hanging wide open. He has an inkling of why, too. “Coming, Harry?”_ _ _

___ _

“I- yes, yes, I am,” Harry says hastily, quickening his footsteps. “Oh- stop it, you,” he adds, at Eggsy’s huff of a snort. “Maddening creature.”

The latter is said under his breath, clearly not meant for Eggsy to hear but he flushes red anyway, from the tip of his forehead to the bottom of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is incredibly late, i'm real sorry about that! I like to keep a few chapters ahead of the one i'm currently posting and the latest one was hit by a major roadblock for about two weeks :( i think it hardly needs to be said that eggsy was lying by omission in this chapter. sorry for this chapter being slightly dry too- the action will pick up again by the next one! no flashbacks in this chapter because eggsy's recounting sort of acts as one. as always, pls comment and/or kudos!! i love reading each comments pls they're like music to my soul pun most definitely intended xx


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for a bit of eggsy/brandon action- it begins in the fourth section of this chapter and is only like three lines or so, if you feel the need to skip!

25 February 2014, 6:00 pm

Going back to the studio can be done either through the fire escape ladder or a lift. Harry suggests the lift, and Eggsy, feeling worn out after his panic filled escapade, agrees. As the lift doors fall shut Harry lets out a deep sigh and leans his back against the railing, dragging a hand over his face tiredly. The exhaustion in his limbs is something that Eggsy commiserates with.

“Rough day, huh?” Eggsy asks, pressing button that says level three. Kingsman has ten rather spacious levels- the roof is on level eleven, demarcated with a single ‘R’. Chester King has his office on level ten- big, roomy, and certainly taking up more space than an executive’s office should take up. Eggsy used to have to record anything he was working on in level one, right on the same floor as noisy techies going out to grab a quick bite or mailmen using the time to flirt embarrassingly with the receptionist. After his Grammy win, he had gotten bumped up to a Level Three studio- he figures Merlin has a lot to do with that.

“You keep me on my toes,” Harry says, smiling wryly. He straightens up, and his back becomes ramrod straight again. “Besides, I was never one for constant surveillance at someone’s workplace, or residence. I’ve always liked a bit of action.” The man sounds almost wistful, like he would rather spend his time dodging bullets and stopping Armageddon-like events than guard Eggsy’s useless, panicky arse. An ex MI6 agent, Eggsy supposes, would inevitably miss the action at some point.

“Sorry I’m not getting shot at enough,” Eggsy offers. In response, Harry laughs. “You could have asked Kay to take your place, you know.”

“I could have,” Harry says, staring at him. His gaze is a little too intense, brown eyes searing into his skin. “But I doubt you would have told me about Brandon if she had been there.”

At that, Eggsy shifts uncomfortably, transferring his weight from his left foot to his right. Has he been so transparent with his implicit trust of Harry that others have started to catch on? Ector had noticed obviously, but that’s because he had fished Harry’s bloody handkerchief out of his jeans to give to the guy. Anyone would have suspected something after that particular show.

“Why did you quit being a spy, anyway?” Eggsy asks, partly to steer the conversation away from entering dangerous territory and partly because he is curious about the reason for Harry to quit the service after a decade of being in it. “I mean- you miss the action and all.”

“The action is the only part of it I miss,” Harry supplies, eyes going a little distant. “I had a rather bad run of it towards the end, I’m afraid. Disillusioned me about certain- values- I used to hold when fulfilling the mission.” He shuts his mouth when the lift stops at Level Six and the doors open.

Charlie walks in, face pale and alone. When he catches sight of Eggsy, it falls into a sneer, vitriolic and snide. “Eggy! Never alone, I see,” he adds, eyes briefly shifting to Harry, whose face has gotten stone cold, lips in a downturned line and eyes practically resembling a marble statue. Charlie sneers again, turning in front. “What, scared of my uncle firing you over your god-awful caterwauling?”

“I don’t see any Grammys in your perusal,” Eggsy says lightly, enjoying the way Charlie’s entire body seems to stiffen into one single painful line of tensed muscle. Stiffen any further and he would snap into little pieces of a vengeful, spiteful twenty something.

“Don’t you have better things to do, anyway, than insult me at every chance you get?” Eggsy asks, not really caring if he gets an answer. The lift is approaching his level, anyway- soon enough, he won’t have to sully his line of sight with Charlie’s awful mug.

“Of course I do, Eggy,” Charlie says, as the lift doors open on Level Three. “I’m attending the Meredith White charity gala. That’s what I do- support the unfortunate. I rather expected you to do likewise,” he adds, casting his gaze crudely on Eggsy head to toe, “but you haven’t made a single appearance at any event and if the rumours about you going off your rocker are true, you won’t be attending this one as well.”

“Eggsy, let’s go-” Harry nudges Eggsy, but Eggsy stays rooted to the spot, staring at Charlie’s cruel eyes.

“Of course I thought you would go to this one, at least,” Charlie continues, “seems rather up your alley, doesn’t it? Victims of abuse and all.”

The fucker, the absolute fucker. Charlie stoops low, of course he stoops so low he might as well be reaching for the knees rather than just below the belt but Eggsy’s nerves are razor thin sensitive and every word falling from Charlie’s mouth cuts at him more deeply than it usually does. He can’t outright curse at Charlie either, because there’s a bloody lift camera and of course Charlie would use the whole interaction as a way to spin it to Chester King as Eggsy being far too unruly to stay at Kingsman. For a second, he just stares at Charie, trying his best to see straight through the red haze brought on by the sheer overwhelming anger.

“Come on, Eggsy,” Harry intones quietly, from beside Eggsy. “Merlin is waiting.”

It rankles at Eggsy to leave without a single retort, but Harry pushes past Charlie, knocking his shoulder into Charlie’s and ignoring his shout of “Hey, watch it!” outright grabs Eggsy’s forearm. “Come on, Mr Unwin,” he repeats within earshot of Charlie. “It wouldn’t do to let pieces of filth delay you from meeting Merlin on time.” The lift doors close on Charlie’s outraged face.

“You’re going to pay for that later, you know,” Eggsy says, still staring at the brown lift doors. They are closed but for some reason, he imagines he can still see the silhouette of Charlie’s face on them, forever imprinted in an ugly, vile sneer. His stomach drops, remembering the words Charlie had said. That’s what Charlie did best- sneering at those lower at him. His words, though, usually never hit their mark or ring especially true- except for today.

“He can’t fire me, now, can he?” Harry asks, eyebrow raised. “He can only fire Merlin and if he does so, he’ll basically set this entire company up to crash.” He straightens his cuffs, gesturing for Eggsy to lead the way. “Shall we?”

Eggsy doesn’t move and says, “I want to go to that charity event thing. The Meredith White one.”

Harry blinks, looking taken aback. “I thought- forgive me,” he says slowly, like he’s measuring the weight of each word before putting it out, “but I thought you hated those events.”

Eggsy starts walking towards the studio. God, he fucking hates Charlie, the utter prick, but what Charlie has that he doesn’t is an unnaturally big mouth. If he starts verifying what the press has been speculating for the past two days, that’s it- he might as well hand in his resignation to Chester King. And the way to do that is to perhaps present a very sane, very sociable version of himself at that bloody gala.

“I do,” Eggsy says, “but what I prefer doesn’t matter. Charlie-”

“-was such a prick to you that if he had continued to shoot his mouth off one second longer I would have decked him myself.” Harry grabs his arm, forcing him to a stop. He whirls around, craning his neck up and glares at Harry who looks unfazed in the face of his glower, looking confused instead. By now, he reckons, Harry must be immune to his glares. “Eggsy, if you’re reacting to what he said-”

“I’m not that immature, thanks,” Eggsy snaps. “Trust me, I know how much of a fucking idiot Charlie is but what he said has a bit of truth, don’t it? If I don’t make public appearances soon, people are gonna think I’m really off my rocker.”

“I don’t think I have to tell you how much danger a single public appearance can put you under,” Harry says sardonically, “but I will. An appearance like that can result in you being poisoned, killed, kidnapped or provoked into making a reaction like what happened that day outside Taco Bell.”

“And I thought that’s what you were there for,” Eggsy hisses in response, jerking his arm away finally, “to protect me against such things.”

Harry’s lips thin at that, the look on his face morphing into one of quiet anger. “Look at how Taco Bell worked out, Eggsy,” Harry says quietly. “I’m not infallible.” Amongst the anger is a slight tinge of guilt in how he holds himself stiff, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides and it hits Eggsy like a truck- of course Harry would feel guilty about Eggsy being targeted at by a crowd and then shot at in a park, although neither of those things are in any way his fault. Harry was just so composed and calm all the damn time, acting like Eggsy’s rock that it had completely slipped Eggsy’s mind that he could have been affected by the events of recent days too. The only reason why, in fact, Eggsy is even privy to this knowledge is because Harry’s letting him know about it. For all of Eggsy’s secretiveness about his own past that Harry often bemoaned, he was even more so about his emotions.

“Then hire more guards,” Eggsy says instead. “Get the people who were protecting my mum and Daisy at the gala, Merlin can stay with my mum instead- if, if you’re running out of manpower,” he ends lamely, suddenly feeling awkward as he realizes what exactly, he’s saying. How can he ask Harry to accommodate for his own selfish gain? And how can he, for that matter, ask Merlin to stay with his mum or Daisy, or remove their protection?

“I have enough guards,” Harry says, “but I need to tell you- you have nothing to prove to anyone, Eggsy.” His eyes are intent and kind, making Eggsy’s heart ache. Of course Harry would say that, because he’s the kind of man that would give of himself to everyone else until there’s nothing left. It’s clear enough, the way the guilt still lies in the shadows of his eyes.

“You said it yourself, Harry,” Eggsy says, “this industry is a bloodthirsty one. If I somehow don’t dispel the rumours of having lost all my collective marbles, Chester King will fire me.” His blood runs cold, as he remembers what Chester King had said during that meeting about talent scouting. He can’t, no matter what, fall to the list of singers whose contracts Chester King will terminate within reason- and he has a feeling King counts the worth of one’s good name as reason.

The line of Harry’s shoulders slump, like he knows he’s been defeated in the face of Eggsy’s impeccable logic. Grinning, Eggsy bounces on the balls of his feet. “Merlin won’t be happy at all,” Harry warns, “especially because he’s been hiding all these invitations from you for the very reason of preventing you from going.” “He knows I’ll have to make at least one public appearance,” Eggsy points out. “Better it be for a cause I actually support.” Most of these charity foundations, he knows, eats up every single sponsor’s donations and only puts up one percent of what has been received for the use it was originally intended for. At least he’d be going for one that’s a bit more transparent in it’s use of donations.

“I don’t think,” Harry says slowly, “that it’s necessary for you to do this.” Eggsy opens his mouth, ready to argue before Harry talks right over him, saying, “I won’t object any further, however. If this is what you really want-”

“It’s what I really want,” Eggsy says quickly.

“Then I won’t stop you,” Harry replies. “I’m not going to help you convince Merlin, however. That’s all on you alone.”

_“Thank you, Harry,” _Eggsy says, very emphatically, to which Harry snorts.__

__

__“Merlin’s not paying me enough for this,” he mutters._ _

__

__*_ _

__

__Predictably, Merlin gets upset but relents in the face of Eggsy’s refusal to move on his own decision and his own guilt over hiding the invitations._ _

__

__“I used to have to push you out the door to make an appearance at these events, and the one time I’m letting you catch a break from them you insist on going,” he growls, a formidable figure hunched over the controls in the studio. “Why the hell are you so contrary, Unwin?”_ _

__

__“It’s my charm,” Eggsy jokes, and when Merlin’s frown stays, unmoving, offers, “I’ll be perfectly safe. Harry will be there, you know.”_ _

__

__Merlin’s face twists into a grimace at that, like he’s just caught the stench of something nasty. “Yeah, I bet he will be,” he mutters, before sighing loudly. “I-I know I shouldn’t have hidden those invitations, but I was so-”_ _

__

__“You were worried for me,” Eggsy says, shrugging. He remembers Harry’s face, shrouded in yellow, explaining how Merlin and Roxy both just want to see him safe. “I’m starting to understand that I may not have been as alone at Kingsman as I thought. It’s- it’s gonna take a little bit of time, but I’ll get there.”_ _

__

__Merlin is quiet, eyes pensive as he focuses on the controls before him. The notes of the song Eggsy has just recorded drift through the studio- it has a softer, more mellow tune, settling pleasantly into the air and making the studio feel less of a jarring, hectic workplace than usual. It also succeeds, somehow, in making Eggsy’s conversation with Merlin more stark and clear- every word that Merlin utters settles into the synapses of his brain like sand on skin. Where before their conversation had been erratic and fueled with high emotion, this one is more amiable and easy-going. It’s only him and Merlin in the studio, too, which helps he supposes- the techies are out for dinner and Roxy has nipped out for a short smoke break._ _

__

__“I meant it when I said your position in Kingsman is permanent,” Merlin says, finally. “That means that nothing you can possibly do, short of murder, will get your contract here terminated.”_ _

__

__Eggsy knows what Merlin is getting at, because he’d gone through the exact same thing with Harry. He doesn’t interrupt him, however, like he usually would- instead he waits, albeit a little impatiently, tapping his left foot a little erratically against the floor in a rhythm that’s out of sync with the song. Merlin’s eyes drift down, and they follow the movement of his foot before they drift back up again, focusing on Eggsy’s face._ _

__

__“I don’t want you to do this,” Merlin says, “if you think that going to this event will somehow gain you Chester King’s approval.”_ _

__

__“I don’t care about that old cunt’s approval,” Eggsy says, perhaps a bit more firmly than he normally would, cheeks flushing red with humiliation and irritation. “I care about being a singer of proper repute that Kingsman can be proud of.” The words on his tongue feel strange, posher and more eloquent than normal- perhaps it is the effect of hanging around Harry. Merlin’s eyebrows also lift at his words- probably at Eggsy being more articulate than ever, a thought that rankles Eggsy._ _

__

__“Okay, Eggsy,” he simply says. “I’ll send back an RSVP- Roxy will get a suit delivered to you tomorrow.”_ _

__

__“Thank you,” Eggsy replies. He shifts awkwardly on his feet as Merlin drums his fingers on the table- in the absence of words, the air between them grows stiflingly awkward. It’s not often, after all, that Eggsy manages to get Merlin to acquiesce to him. Merlin, in many ways, is as reticent and closed off as Eggsy himself- it is no wonder that Eggsy hadn’t known Merlin had been in the army prior to the appearance of Harry. How could he? Merlin keeps his secrets locked as tight as Pandora’s Box, and assumes that no one is remotely interested in holding the keys. With such a secretive man as a manager, there is no confusion as to why Eggsy had doubted them to be friends._ _

__

__Perhaps, however, Eggsy had mistaken what the foundation of friendship should mean. The fact that Merlin has been protecting him all this while- defending him against Chester King’s hawk-like restrictions, finding the notes before immediately hiring a bodyguard and then hiding the invitations to prevent him from going somewhere unsafe- does fairly betray how Merlin sees him as. More than a colleague in a workplace, at least, and that, Eggsy thinks, should be reason enough for he himself to start treating Merlin as more than one instead._ _

__

__“Thank you,” Eggsy says suddenly, causing Merlin to start and look up, “for protecting me. Hiring Harry, defending me to Chester- you know what I mean.”_ _

__

__Merlin grins. It’s a small smile, an expressive twitch of the lips, but it’s a grin nonetheless- a win for Eggsy, in any way._ _

__

__“Nothing I wouldn’t do,” Merlin says, “for the best singer in Kingsman.”_ _

__

__*_ _

__

__25 February 2014, 10:00pm_ _

__

__“I still haven’t forgiven you,” Roxy says archly, “for saying that bit about employees here greasing their way through.” She had been ignoring him for the entire day, and it had taken a lot of cajoling on Eggsy’s part to convince her to follow him to the Indian place opposite the building. He supposes that he deserves it though, especially since he hasn’t apologized._ _

__

__“I’m sorry,” he says, tearing off a bit of the naan. “You know I don’t think that of you, right? It’s just true for a lot of the other employees here- look at Rufus, he certainly didn’t get here of his own merit.” The producer, one of Charlie’s personal lackeys, is about as much of a numbskull as they come, and the only reason why he hasn’t been fired yet is because his father is one of the biggest sponsors for Kingsman and regularly plays golf on Sundays with Chester King._ _

__

__“I certainly can’t argue with that, he caused the coffee machine to break down the other day,” Roxy says, already looking a lot lighter after his apology. “I still-” she breaks off, frustrated, and forcefully dips her own naan in the green curry. Drops splash everywhere, one landing on Eggsy’s own phone. He wipes it off and waits for Roxy to continue. If experience has taught him anything, it’s taught him that sometimes interrupting Roxy in the middle of her own thought process can lead to things getting bloody._ _

__

__After swallowing, she says, “I just want you to know- I thought we were friends, good friends too. I won’t tell just anyone about my obsession with beating little kids on Fortnite, you know.”_ _

__

__“I know,” Eggsy says hastily. “I know, I just- you know how I get sometimes. I was just-”_ _

__

__“I know,” Roxy says quietly, putting down the naan and reaching over to give Eggsy’s hand a small squeeze. “Can’t be easy in the lion’s den. I get it. If there’s anyone who understands how you feel in Kingsman Records best, Eggsy, it’s me.”_ _

__

__Eggsy stares at her, not comprehending, until it finally dawns with a shock. How could he ever have forgotten? There were two things Chester King loved the most- old money and tradition, and Roxy was hardly either one. The Mortons came from a long line of law enforcers- Roxy’s own parents had met in the army, and Percival working in Interpol had cemented the reputation. Along had come Roxy, with a master’s degree in Public Relations and an impressive set of skills to boot, along with glowing recommendations. Chester King couldn’t turn her down without invoking rumours casting doubt on his sanity as an old man but he had never done much to hide his ill faith in her person. Not to mention, Roxy had said, confiding in Eggsy with a grimace, the demeanour of the rest of the PR assistants that had followed Chester King’s tune like it was law. Snooty with noses upturned higher than the Queen’s, they’d made Roxy’s first few months working in Kingsman a living hell. And so what she has just said is the truth, even if Eggsy had forgotten it for a little while- no one can understand his position better than Roxy._ _

__

__“Oh,” Eggsy says lamely. “I’d forgotten.”_ _

__

__“Obviously,” Roxy sniffs. “I’m sorry, by the way, for hiding the invitations. I didn’t want to do it, but Merlin insisted.” She takes a sip of her Diet Coke, before adding, “he’s been- stressed out.”_ _

__

__“I talked with him, we straightened it out,” Eggsy says, frowning. Dark eyebags are pretty much a permanent feature of Merlin’s- the man was a regular nocturnal animal. A text sent to him at four am in the morning would get an instant reply, and yet there he would be in the studio at eight am the next day, hunched over in a turtleneck made of the finest wool this side of England and with a black coffee cradled lovingly in his hands. Roxy had once explained that that was just his modus operandi- very little sleep with power naps in the middle. Unhealthy, but why knock it if it worked?_ _

__

__Therefore the appearance of eyebags under his eyes, paleness to his cheeks doesn’t shock nearly as much as it should, because it is the status quo- but apparently it should have, this time round. “I didn’t know he was stressed,” Eggsy says._ _

__

__“He’s been worried about a number of things,” Roxy says wryly. “This mess with you and whoever the hell wants to kill you-”_ _

__

__“Say that a little louder, will you,” Eggsy retorts, shoving a piece of naan into his mouth. From the next table over, a woman hastily looks away, her cheeks flushing lightly. Roxy twists in her seat and gives the entire table a glare the likes of which only Charlie Hesketh usually has the privilege of getting the full force of on a daily basis, before continuing, “-and also about this talent scouting Chester King has been on about.”_ _

__

__“Talent scouting?” Eggsy asks disbelievingly. “All three of us are safe, aren’t we-”_ _

__

__“Yes, but the rest of Kingsman isn’t,” Roxy says, rolling her eyes. “Think, Eggsy- someone of your caliber and background, getting guaranteed a spot in Kingsman above everyone else? It’s ruffled a lot of feathers that Merlin has had to waste precious time smoothing down, because none of them will dare raise their voice against Chester, causing the blame to fall on Merlin instead. All these people- they’re not like you, Eggsy. They’re self-centred, entitled, and lazy to a fault.”_ _

__

__“Thanks,” Eggsy says, grinning, and then his grin drops as he thinks over what Roxy has just said. “I would have thought Chester King would have given people of his ilk a definite place here.”_ _

__

__“I would have thought so too,” Roxy says, taking a sip of her Diet Coke. “But apparently not.” At Eggsy’s look of abject disbelief, she shrugs. “Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf.”_ _

__

__“The man thought I was exaggerating getting shot at, and prioritized his own company’s reputation over my safety,” Eggsy snorts. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” Even now, just thinking of that failed meeting still rankles at him like an irritant, like someone constantly rubbing poison ivy over his skin. Only a saint wouldn’t be in the least bit affected by their boss accusing them of getting too big for their own britches for no reason other than to protect their own arse._ _

__

__“I thought you didn’t want a police investigation,” Roxy says lightly._ _

__

__“I didn’t,” Eggsy grumbles, “but it’s the principle of the thing.” Remembering how the police investigation in the morning had turned sour, anyway, he looks out the window- there’s a sleek black car stationed right outside the shop, the windows opaque and coloured in. The Kingsman building is stationed in the richer parts of London, anyway, but the car still makes heads turn and whispers to rise. This time round, Kay’s inside the car instead of Harry. For a minute, he occupies his mind with thoughts and fancies about what he might actually be doing, on his two hours or so off. Using his phone, definitely- texting to Merlin on it, perhaps? He does prefer texting to talking- a revelation, for a man who often did so like he was crafting epistolary for the ancient times._ _

__

__“Where’s Harry, anyway?” Roxy asks, as she dips her naan into the curry- more gently, this time round._ _

__

__“He had to talk urgent business with Merlin, or something,” Eggsy says, shrugging. “Says he’ll pop by at the apartment to check if everything’s alright. Why do you ask?” He frowns, thinking back to when he last saw Harry- arguing with Merlin about something and gesticulating wildly, an adorable mess of limbs. “Is everything alright with him?”_ _

“Oh, everything’s okay, he’s alright,” Roxy says calmly, watching with keen, hawk-like eyes as Eggsy takes a sip of his own Coke. The gaze, sniper-like, makes him nervous, so he sips even more to avoid meeting it. “I just wanted to ask- do you have a crush on Harry?”

Eggsy spits out his coke and it ends up on the front of his jacket. _“What?”_

“It’s okay if you do,” Roxy continues blithely, as Eggsy stares at her, horrified and sticky to boot. “I mean, to each his own, right?”

___ _

___“Rox- I-” He blinks stupidly, completely overwhelmed. He’d thought he was being subtle. He had certainly never ogled Harry outright at work- it had been through sheer force of his own will and Merlin’s own hawk-like gaze that had made him keep his eyes firmly where they were supposed to be at all times. “I- I don’t-”_ _ _

___ _

___“It’s okay if you do,” Roxy repeats, looking slightly amused. “I wouldn’t have noticed, you know, but you two get along a little too well. You listen to him, for one.”_ _ _

___ _

___“I listen to you and Merlin too,” Eggsy says, disgruntled. How had Roxy known? Does everyone at Kingsman know? Is it a spectacle, a topic of gossip- that poor street rat Eggsy Unwin having fallen on his back flat for his own fucking bodyguard? “In fact, we had a whole argument about it today, if you didn’t remember.”_ _ _

___ _

___Roxy doesn’t rise to the bait. “You do, but you listen to him with your whole heart, did you realise that? Whenever he’s talking, your body leans into him and you look positively captivated by whatever the hell he’s saying, even if it’s about taking a shit in the toilet or something.”_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy wrinkles his nose. “Rank, Roxy.” Behind Roxy, the back of a man in a faded green shirt shifts like he too, had heard Roxy’s very appealing description._ _ _

___ _

___Roxy, in response, waves a hand airily. “You know what I bloody well mean,” she says, stuffing her mouth with naan at the same time and thus causing bits of it to spray out. Eggsy moves his plate out of the line of fire, still feeling like he’s been decked hard in the face. “Tell me, after our fight, who did you turn to?”_ _ _

___ _

___“It’s not like there’s anyone else at Kingsman I could have talked to! Harry was there, like a- wet napkin sticking to my heel,” Eggsy argues, but his resolve has weakened- Roxy looks entirely too firm in her own convictions and it’s not like Eggsy isn’t harbouring a massive crush on him, anyway. He might as well tell Roxy about it._ _ _

___ _

___“Every single time you talk about him,” Roxy declares, loudly too, “you sound like a fawning socialite thirsting after the first seemingly pleasant man she finds at her coming out ball.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Read a lot of trashy chick lit, do you,” Eggsy says dryly, to which she just takes out her phone, furiously typing away at something before she emits a sound of triumph and shoves it under his nose. Bemused, he takes it, wondering what is about to happen now before he looks down and promptly feels all the blood in his body rush to his face._ _ _

___ _

___It’s a picture, of him and Harry standing closely together. Taken probably during the days before the shooting at the park had happened, it depicts a rather telling and embarrassing scene of him looking up with Harry with an expression of what can only be termed as loving adoration etched across every inch of his face. Harry’s looking away- of course he is, because if he’d looked at Eggsy’s face he would have promptly freaked out and resigned, no matter his close friendship with Merlin- and his hands are in the air again. The darn thing is, Eggsy thinks, that he knows when this picture had been taken. Harry had been telling him about one of the cases he’d tackled while in the employ of her Majesty’s secret service- Eggsy had hung onto his every word because more so than the tale of hunting down a Nazi the emotion and fervor Harry had been regaling it with had been even more riveting. In that moment, Harry had been resplendent with beauty; Eggsy had simply been caught in his orbit._ _ _

___ _

___“I never denied the crush now, did I?” Eggsy asks weakly, handing the phone back to her. He doesn’t embarrass himself further by asking if she has more pictures of Harry- neither of them need to bear witness to that particular humiliation._ _ _

___ _

___“You tried to but I’m no fool, Eggsy,” Roxy says, and waits a beat before saying, “Neither is Merlin.”_ _ _

___ _

___This time round, Eggsy doesn’t spit out his mouthful- but it’s a close one._ _ _

___ _

___“He knows? What did he-”_ _ _

___ _

___“He told me to stay out of it, but Eggsy-” she leans forward, her eyes excited. “You two- it’s like watching James and Percy all over again. I think you should ask him out.”_ _ _

___ _

___Clearly Roxy had spent far too many hours cooped up in the studio. Eggsy glares at her, sighing internally when she glares back, undeterred. “He doesn’t like me like that, Roxy. He’s way outta my league-”_ _ _

___ _

___“Nonsense-”_ _ _

___ _

___“And,” Eggsy says loudly over her protests, flinching when the man behind her shifts his head as if to turn behind to yell at them to shut up, “I need to focus on the new album and making sure X doesn’t kill me. That’s a thing- if you remember.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Don’t get snotty with me,” Roxy retorts, frowning. “I tried to prevent you from going to the bloody gala for that reason, you know.” There’s a slight tension along her forearms, and Eggsy bites his own lip guiltily- that had been uncalled for._ _ _

___ _

___“You’re right, I’m sorry, it’s just-” his voice trails off and he stuffs the rest of the naan into his mouth. The man behind Roxy, he observes, determined to focus on anything but the conversation at hand, is wearing a cap, the brim clearly pulled low for the back to be straining against the middle of the back of his head. Who wore a cap indoors?_ _ _

___ _

___“Just what?” Roxy asks._ _ _

___ _

___“Just nothing,” Eggsy backtracks. “Listen- please don’t tell anyone about- about my crush on him, alright? I’ll deal with it, it will go away soon I promise.”_ _ _

___ _

___Roxy actually puts the drink down at that. “How exactly do you plan to deal with this? By writing a song and then hoping that belting it out in a freezing studio will somehow magically stop you from thinking of his-”_ _ _

“Rox!”

“-heart,” Roxy says, looking triumphant. The man behind Roxy shifts _again_ \- sometimes people really hold it in for longer than they have to. “See, I went with something innocent here but I can totally tell where your mind jumped to.” She leans forward, smirking. “And I know, personally, that if Wendy Williams ever caught wind of-”

___ _

___Eggsy gulps the rest of his coke down and slams the drink back on the table, not caring if it’s going to make him have the most awful, nose-burning burp in the history of burps. “I think,” he says loudly, trying not to smile at Roxy’s guffawing that’s quickly transitioning into ugly snorts, “we’re done here. I’ll call for the bill, shall I?”_ _ _

___ _

___With a grating scrape that almost makes Eggsy’s ears bleed, the man behind Roxy stands up. He stretches to his full height- six feet tall, which dwarfs Eggsy if he had been standing up as well- and adjusts his cap more firmly on his head before pulling the hood of his jacket up over it. It’s an entirely ridiculous outfit to wear at night, much less in a crowded restaurant with active heaters and outfitted overhead bulbs emitting searing rays of artificial light. He walks past their table, gaze fixed ahead. Something falls out of his pocket, but he just keeps walking- it’s like he’s immune to everything else except his own mind._ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy bends down, picking the thing up. It’s a crumpled up piece of paper. “Hey, you dropped something!” he yells, standing up and lunging forward, but it’s a lost cause- at this time of the night the restaurant is usually crowded and the man has seemingly disappeared into the throng of people crowding the service counter. Frowning, Eggsy unfurls the crumpled piece of paper. The man may have been an irritant for their whole conversation, but what if the paper is important to him? Michelle had raised him up to be an upstanding citizen of the law, after all._ _ _

___ _

___“What is it? God, you’re slow,” Roxy comments, impatiently leaning forward, her hair tickling Eggsy’s nose into a sneeze. Eggsy leans away, rolling his eyes._ _ _

___ _

___“It’s crumpled! Just wait- a second-” the paper unfolds and Eggsy promptly drops it, one hand clapped over his mouth to prevent a shriek from escaping._ _ _

“What is it? Eggsy?” Roxy bends down, picking the paper up. It’s not a paper, though- it’s a photograph Eggsy knows like the back of his hand. There’s only one copy of it, and it’s buried in a box at the bottom of Eggsy’s bed. He swallows, a thick lump blocking his throat. Wondering why a random man with a penchant for listening in on other people’s conversations had a random photograph of him standing in front of a circus tent with his dead childhood best friend slash sometimes-bedfellow is moot, because he knows the answer to that particular question. He knows it as well as he knows that if he turns over the photograph, there will be a threat written addressed to him, by X.

“Eggsy- this-” her voice is hushed. Despite the people crowding the restaurant, it feels strangely empty, the din silenced for the both of them. “Is this Brandon?” “Taken when we were thirteen,” Eggsy answers, swallowing roughly. “A circus had come to town. Brandon, Jamal, Ryan and I had taken the bus to see it, and Ryan took that photo for us.”

Roxy turns the photograph over, and pales. “Who else had that photo?”

“Brandon,” Eggsy says firmly. “And me. No one else- give it up, Roxy, I know it’s X-” Something in Roxy’s expression makes him stop in his words, staring at her. Her eyes are wide in abject shock, like she’s just been clubbed over the head by someone whom she’d thought would never wield a club in his life, much less use it as a weapon against someone else. He opens his mouth, but wordlessly she shows him the back of the photograph- and it’s only by sheer force of will that he manages to keep all his dinner inside his stomach.

_Don’t fret, I didn’t steal this. Your darling, lovely Brandon gave this to me. -X_

*

___ _

___20 July 2008, 6:00 pm_ _ _

___ _

___It is during sex that Eggsy breaks the news. They’re in his room, the door locked and the blinds shut, Brandon’s mouth on his cock- tongue expertly moving up the side of it and lips working him over until he’s gasping and pleading, arching his back and twisting his hands into the rumpled bedsheets. Brandon slides a hand over a thigh and under his arse, a sinuous move that urges him deeper into his mouth, and as Eggsy turns his head to the side, moaning like an underpaid extra in a Pornhub video, he catches sight of the crushed-up ice in its tiny packet. It is that, more than anything, that makes Eggsy, just before he’s about to come, say, “I’ve signed up for the marines- oh, do that again- come August.”_ _ _

___ _

___Then he’s coming all over the bedsheets below him, Brandon’s mouth pulled off him as he stares at him in shock. Spent, he leans his head back against the pillow, using the pretty damaged bedsheets to wipe himself off from his stomach and between his legs, hoisting himself up on shaky elbows as Brandon sits down heavily at the edge of the bed. The only reason why, he knows, Brandon isn’t demanding to be brought off too is because of the hastily gasped out declaration not a second ago._ _ _

___ _

___“You’re going to the marines?” Brandon demands, as Eggsy reaches over the side of the bed for his sweatpants and shirt, forgoing the briefs for now. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he looks impossibly young, clad only in his boxers and nothing else. There’s no prominent bulge at the front of his boxers, either- getting told your best-friend-with-many-benefits is indefinitely going to leave forever must be as instant a boner-kill than any._ _ _

___ _

___“Yes,” Eggsy says quietly. He goes up on his knees, ripping the bedsheet off and dumping it on the floor- Brandon dutifully helps him, tugging it out of the corners while avoiding the wet spots- and once it is on a wet heap on the floor, gets his legs folded beneath him, staring at Brandon. Brandon sits on the edge of the bed again, still mostly nude save for his boxers, head bowed down and elbows on his knees. The dying sunlight filters in through the blinds, causing golden shadows to dance across his back and clenching his own hands, Eggsy hides them beneath his thighs. This arrangement, after all, comes with no strings attached. Eggsy can’t touch whenever the fancy hits him._ _ _

___ _

___“Why?” Brandon asks. A simple question, but a whole world of hurt is packed into that one word. Before Eggsy can answer, Brandon straightens up and turns around, lip curling downwards into a frown. “Why, Eggsy? Are you- you’re leaving your mother with Dean?”_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m not,” Eggsy instantly snaps, and then regrets it when Brandon’s eyes narrow. “I’m not leaving her, I’ll be sending half my salary back,” he continues, in a gentler voice. “I just- this is the best, for everyone involved-”_ _ _

___ _

___“You got acceptance letters from Sheffield and UCL, I saw them on your desk,” Brandon argues. “UCL is only a forty-minute drive away-”_ _ _

___ _

___“You honestly think we have the kind of money to be sending me to fucking UCL?” Eggsy asks incredulously. “Dean doesn’t have the money, nor the patience or the wish to send me off to a university that secures my future, Brandon.”_ _ _

___ _

___“There’s the local university too,” Brandon insists, his eyes wide and pleading, He grabs Eggsy’s hands with his own, and Eggsy lets him- in this arrangement, Brandon sets the rules. All Eggsy does is follow them, trailing around half hopefully, half wearily in Brandon’s wake. “Army can’t be your only option-”_ _ _

___ _

___“It isn’t,” Eggsy says quietly. “I’m not going because it’s my only option, Brandon. I’m going because I want to.” He sits on his haunches, and waits for the eventual blow up._ _ _

___ _

___It takes long. First, Brandon’s eyebrows scrunch together, like he can’t comprehend what he’s hearing. His lips part- the universal expression of confusion. And then- then the penny drops, and with it, his jaw as well. Eggsy used to love watching the microexpressions develop on his face, see where the facial journey took him. Now, it just fills him with tenterhooks, the anticipation of the inevitable storm._ _ _

___ _

___“You’re leaving me- everyone here? On purpose?” Brandon’s voice rises in anger, and he lets go of Eggsy’s hands, staring at him in- betrayal, Eggsy realizes with a pang. It stumps Eggsy- what has Brandon got to be betrayed about?_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m not leaving you or anyone,” Eggsy says, trying to remain calm. It wouldn’t do to have two wildly emotional people carry out this sort of conversation in a room stinking of sex and sweat. “I’m just- I need some time away from the estate, alright? I just need-”_ _ _

“To leave,” Brandon snaps, picking up his jeans and putting them on hastily. His foot catches in the denim and he curses, shoving it through forcefully. There’s a keen tremble in his hands that makes Eggsy think he’s miscalculated this whole thing- signing up for the marines, and breaking the news out. Heart thundering, he lunges forward and grabs Brandon’s forearm. “Hey, listen to me a second-”

“Let go-”

 _“Listen.”_ At the sharp sound of his voice, Brandon stills, jeans halfway buttoned through. “I know bloody well that I have people here I can’t leave but I need to, alright? I need a bit of space from my mum and Dean-”

___ _

___“Then stay with me,” Brandon urges, eyes wild. “You could- I have that pull out mattress in my room, you could stay-”_ _ _

___ _

___“It doesn’t work like that, Brandon,” Eggsy says, his heart lurching at the desperation in Brandon’s eyes. Enlisting for the marines had been a recent decision, taken in part due to the massive debt his mother and Dean are now in and in part due to the fact that he’s quite simply, exhausted of taking fists to his face and exhausted of constantly exchanging cruel words with his mother who’s out of it most of the day. It’s all well to spend the day out with Jamal, or Ryan, or Brandon- but come night and he’s at home getting beaten up by this shitstain of a birth mistake or taking care of someone who’s more likely to insult him than thank him and love him- or if he’s particularly lucky, both. He doesn’t know if he’s right for wanting to leave his upbringing and his family but the yearning to do so gnaws at his nerves and bites at his limbs at night, staring up at the ceiling and pretending he doesn’t hear Dean and his thugs watch football and drink into the wee hours of the night._ _ _

___ _

___“It can,” Brandon insists. “Mum wouldn’t mind-”_ _ _

___ _

___“I would,” Eggsy says, and winces at how Brandon instantly shuts up at that, his mouth closing with an audible ‘click’. “Brandon, I’m- I’m sick to death of this place. I want out. I need some air.”_ _ _

___ _

___Brandon throws on his shirt, not flinching when it catches on some of his scars. There’s one particular arc, that stretches all the way from the bottom of his rib to his hipbone. He says he got it from that fateful day when Poppy Adams had murdered his father- Eggsy is not so sure, though. “Nice to know how you really feel,” Brandon spits._ _ _

“This isn’t _about_ you,” Eggsy snaps, going up on his knees and glaring at Brandon, who makes as if to stand up. “This is about me, and my own need to get the hell out of this- clusterfuck of a-"

___ _

___“This how you feel about us? A clusterfuck?”_ _ _

___ _

___“I never stopped you from joining Poppy Adams in her demented little international drug corporation!” Eggsy exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. He had protested, but relented at Brandon’s embellishment of the money coming in from being one of her loyal employees, and then declined his offer for him to join the ring as well. Adams’ Pharmaceuticals is a building that sits just down the streets from the Rowley estate, strategically placed for the easy access to the gang leaders- the surviving ones, all of whom are now firmly on Poppy Adams’ payroll. If Eggsy had suspected that Dean had stayed home that night two years ago out of a need to save his own skin, that had sealed the deal- Dean was an absolutely useless dog. You bought his loyalty not with a strong friendship, but with fear and money._ _ _

___ _

___“That’s not even close to the same thing!” Brandon yells, his arms gesticulating wildly. “You’re my best fucking friend, not to mention my-” his eyes flit over to the crumpled bedsheets, and he swallows roughly. At the implication, Eggsy reddens but the confusion sinks in the pit of his stomach like a stone. This was an arrangement, after all- not even Brandon had the right to look like that in such an Arrangement._ _ _

___ _

___“But it’s alright, Eggsy,” Brandon snaps. “Leave us all behind. Leave your fucking mother alone with her abusive husband. Leave me behind- me with my fucking nightmares every night, seeing my arsehole of a dad get shot in the forehead. No love lost, right?”_ _ _

___ _

___The words sink between them, and all the blood drains from Eggsy’s face. Brandon is breathing hard, drops of sweat rolling down his forehead and onto his neck but Eggsy can’t shift his focus away from his eyes, which are suddenly full of water._ _ _

___ _

___“Brandon,” Eggsy fairly begs, the name a light, tense whisper. “Please, just-”_ _ _

___ _

___“I’ll see myself out,” Brandon says coldly, before spinning on his heel and storming from the room, the door slamming shut with a bang behind him. The front door slams too, a distant thud, and Eggsy drops his head in his hands and breathes._ _ _

___ _

___*_ _ _

___ _

___25 February 2014, 10:00 pm_ _ _

___ _

___“You’re not to go tomorrow,” Harry says with a finality that suggests- or rather, hopes for- no further argument. He’s holding the photograph tightly within his fingers- so tight, in fact, that any tighter and there will be a neat white line across the frozen, smiling faces when the photograph is smoothed back out. They’re at the front of the apartment complex, two men lounging in a car at the opposite side of the road as Harry and Eggsy have their talk._ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy rolls his eyes. “No, I will,” he says instead. “X may not know I was going there because if they did, they woulda definitely threatened me regarding that.”_ _ _

___ _

___“And that is preferable for you?” Harry says, eyes flinty the way they usually get when he becomes annoyed. Eggsy dearly hates the sight of it, because it makes him feel like his skin is being eaten alive by fire ants, in return._ _ _

___ _

___“Obviously not,” Eggsy snaps, “but it shows that I can attend the gala tomorrow. Come on, Harry, I showed you this note because I wanted you to know, not because I wanted you to stop me from going. I would’ve hidden it, otherwise.”_ _ _

___ _

___“X has shot at you once,” Harry reminds him, a furrow to his brow that Eggsy wants to smooth out- with a soft kiss, perhaps, a moue of a touch. “This gala- there will be people. I can lose sight of you amid the crowd, or something may slip my attention, or I could get distracted-”_ _ _

___ _

“Distracted by what?” Eggsy asks, only to have Harry huff and run a hand agitatedly through his perfectly coiffed hair, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Harry, listen to yourself- _there’s going to be a lot of people._ X isn’t gonna strike from within a crowd- a media circus makes it harder to get to me.”

___ _

___Harry looks unconvinced. “Eggsy,” he says firmly, “be that as it may, even if there’s the slightest chance that X can get to you- we can’t take that risk. I won’t allow you to take that risk.” His voice wavers on the latter, as though even the thought of letting Eggsy put himself in danger willy nilly is making him want to cock his gun and shoot it off at the nearest target possible. It’s chivalrous, but entirely unnecessary and more than a bit alarming. Will this what the rest of Eggsy’s life look like- getting shot down for possible outings he asks to take just because of the slightest hint of danger?_ _ _

___ _

___“By that logic, you’re not going to make me go out anywhere at all, not even to the Kingsman Building,” Eggsy fires back, irritated. “There’s the slightest chance he’ll attack me anywhere I go- he got to me at Taco Bell, for fuck’s sake.”_ _ _

___ _

___“You’re not improving your case,” Harry warns, his arms folded across his admittedly impressive chest._ _ _

___ _

___“So,” Eggsy says, reigning in his urge to kick Harry childishly in the shins, “there’s no point in stopping me from going tomorrow because either way, I’m always in danger! You’re good, Harry, but you can’t make me a hundred percent safe at all times-”_ _ _

___ _

___“And here I was thinking you believed in my ability to protect you,” Harry snipes. His eyes are keen on Eggsy though- which shows that he’s listening, at least. That’s more than what Eggsy can say for most of the other men in his life._ _ _

___ _

___“-and I’d rather be somewhere out and enjoying myself while in danger, than stay home in bloody confinement like a prisoner, while in danger.” He waves a hand back at his apartment, where the lights are still on- this time of the night, his mum’s still in the process of getting ready for bed. “You’re many things, Harry, but you’re not a jailor.”_ _ _

___ _

___“No, I’m not,” Harry says, sighing loudly. The sound of that tells Eggsy he’s halfway to his victory- Harry is giving way slowly but surely. “And I’m hearing you, I am- but it is my job, too, to make sure you’re in as minimal danger as possible. That involves-”_ _ _

___ _

___“-guarding me at all times, making sure I’m not followed or stalked-”_ _ _

___ _

___“-preventing you from going to events with a heightened level of danger,” Harry finishes, glaring down at Eggsy. “Just this once, though-”_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy waits with bated breath._ _ _

___ _

___“-I’m making an exception.” Harry looks exhausted and worn down in the admittance of his own defeat. “My two agents and I will have eyes on you at all times, and we will ensure that the gala is more heavily fortified than the Buckingham palace.”_ _ _

___ _

___“I know, Harry,” Eggsy says softly, stepping forward and taking a hold of his hand, drawing it away from his chest. For all his griping, of course Eggsy’s noticed the way Harry accommodates his requests whenever possible, making sure that security is increased instead of Eggsy being forced to stay away. He’s done so much to make sure nothing other than a few notes and two stray bullets find themselves in Eggsy’s path and it shows in the way Eggsy still feels absolutely safe in his presence, in a way he hasn’t felt in a very long time. The willingness to listen to and meet his needs and wants at all times is a courtesy not even Merlin has afforded him. “Thank you.”_ _ _

___ _

___“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Harry says, eyes impossibly warm. “It’s my job.”_ _ _

___ _

___> Eggsy tenses, ready to draw his fingers away. Of course- of course Harry’s only in it for the job, of course he doesn’t think of Eggsy as much more than another client, of course the warmth in his eyes just means its his obligation to fulfill his duty-_ _ _

___ _

___“And even if it wasn’t,” Harry carries on, the tenor of his voice soft and lulling Eggsy into a place of immense comfort, “I would be immensely happy to protect you anyway. It would be a God-given honour, to ensure you’re delivered into safety at all hours, at all times.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Oh,” Eggsy whispers, unsure of how to reply to such a declaration. Then, on impulse, he steps forward and wraps Harry in an embrace for the second time that day. Harry stiffens for a second, before wrapping his own arms around Eggsy too. “I’m thanking you anyway,” he whispers, and inhaling the scent of pine and rosewood, wishes for a moment that he could stay wrapped up in Harry’s arms forever._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the lovely comments! I know this chapter just really looks like a lot of harry and eggsy just going back and forth on attending the gala but excuse them they're idiots. 
> 
> I also must say that irl you can't actually rsvp within like two days of the event but this is a fanfiction tbh its not exactly grounded in reality lmao. I also must say irl that bodyguards aren't usually as accommodating as harry so sorry for the false conceptions of bodyguards blame harry hart 
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO the implications of the threat aren't really discussed here cos the chapter was getting too long- it's discussed in the next chapter! lets hope I manage to post that one within like 2 weeks rip


	10. Chapter 10

26 February 2014, 10:00 am  


“Come on, Daisy,” Eggsy damn near begs, trying to remember that he loves his sister very much as she, yet again, leans away from the purple mush. “You love this shit, don’t you?”  


“No!” Daisy shrieks, banging her hands against the tray and leaning her head away from the mush. Her new favourite word of the week is ‘No’, and Eggsy would have been pleased by the fact that she’s finally saying something other than unintelligible baby sounds if it wasn’t so intensely annoying.  


“You need breakfast, flower,” Eggsy says wearily. He has the day off because according to Merlin, he needs to have a bit of R & R before socializing to the extreme at the gala tonight- which, fair, but being home on a Friday is unsettling, to say the least. He keeps looking at the clock and tracking the time- by now, his traitorous little mind tells him, he should be on the road, laughing with Harry over something stupid he’d seen on his Twitter feed. It’s a bit like having a sick day in high school but minus the feeling of overall death.  


Daisy bangs her hands on the tray again, shaking her head so viciously her curls bounce.  


“Baby, you’ll get hungry later,” Eggsy says patiently. He inches his hand forward again and hears Daisy shriek in a way that makes his ears ring, “No!”  


“Daisy,” Eggsy says, changing tack to make his voice sound more stern now, “if you don’t eat your breakfast your big bruv Eggsy will be very angry with you.”  


This causes her to stop shaking her head and look up at Eggsy, confused. “-’Ggy?” She reaches up one hand to slap his face softly before her wide blue eyes alarmingly fill with tears. “-ggy mad?” If Eggsy didn’t know better, he’d say that Daisy is manipulating him- pretty damn effortlessly too.  


“No, Daisy,” Eggsy says calmly, nudging her hand out of the way so that she stops tearing up, because the sight damn nears tears him up. “I’m not mad, but you have to eat this, otherwise you’ll be very hungry.”  


Daisy considers for a moment, as though weighing the pros and cons of eating the food, before she leans forward and takes the spoon into her mouth. At the exact same time, Eggsy’s phone goes off as the Apple ringtone blares into the air. The screen shows that it’s Harry, and Eggsy blinks for a second, confused, before picking it up and hitting call.  


“Wotcher, Harry,” Eggsy says, spooning another mouthful into Daisy. A bit of mush dribbles on her chin and he wipes it off with the napkin, trained from the early days when he’d take care of her while his mother was going through withdrawal symptoms from various narcotics.  


“Hello,” Harry says warmly, before his voice goes a tad steely. “I hope this call finds you well- did you receive any more threats?”  


Eggsy rolls his eyes at the formality- honestly, sometimes he took the gentlemanly thing too far and sometimes, Eggsy had to pretend he didn’t absolutely love it. “No, don’t worry,” Eggsy says. “But you didn’t call me for that, did you? There’s something else.” If Harry had merely wanted to know about the status of his safety, he’d usually text- this is out of the norm, for him. It makes something uneasy curdle in the deep pit of Eggsy’s stomach- what is so urgent that it had made Harry call him in the wee hours of the morning?  


Harry’s voice is tense. “Yes- there is something, indeed.”  


Eggsy waits, spooning another mouthful into Daisy’s mouth. Daisy swallows it down, before speaking clearly, Michelle’s admonishments about not talking with her mouth full clearly having a deep impression on her, “Wan F’og.” Frog, her weirdly named stuffed giraffe gifted to her by her Uncle Jamal is currently in her bed covered with a blanket, still presumably sleeping, so Eggsy says, “You gotta eat your food first, baby.”  


“Are you with Daisy?” Harry asks. He’s clearly stalling, so whatever it is, it’s big. The uneasiness somersaults on itself, a big ball of nausea.  


“Yeah, my mum’s having a girls’ day out so it’s just me and my flower for the entire morning, eh Dais?” He looks at Daisy for support but Daisy grumbles, annoyed at the refusal of Frog- she subsides only when Eggsy tweaks her nose. There’s an amused huff at the other end of the line, which Eggsy basks in before he realizes that Harry must have called him for something else other than simply laughing at Daisy’s antics.  


“Harry…”  


“Yes, yes,” Harry says hastily, sounding rather scatterbrained. “I- that is, I’m calling to say that I really apologize but- I’m afraid something has come up.” His voice gets stronger, more firm in its apology. “I may not be able to make it for the gala tonight.”  


Eggsy’s heart drops into the pits of his stomach with a clang. He’s peripherally aware of Daisy looking at him with wide eyes, purple mush spotting the corner of her mouth, the spoon halfway inside the bowl containing the breakfast. His knuckles ache with the tension of gripping his mobile- any tighter and they’ll be causing serious damage to it.  


“But I’ll try my best,” Harry continues, a note of urgency in his voice at Eggsy’s continued silence. “I’m sending over my other two agents, their contracts ended a week ago- Gawain and Uther, they’re two of my best-”  


Eggsy suddenly finds his voice again, and cuts off Harry mid ramble. “I thought- I thought you- I thought I was your only client for the moment.” I thought I was your top priority, Eggsy thinks and doesn’t say with a pang, fishing the spoon out of the bowl and feeding Daisy again. Daisy swallows it obediently this time round, patting Eggsy’s hand as it withdraws from her mouth. The gesture is indubitably sweet, and Eggsy sends her a smile.  


“You are,” Harry says insistently. “It’s just- something’s come up, there’s something I need to do.” His sentences are disjointed, frantic- he’s repeating himself. He’s not this haphazard, this discomposed, unless something’s really unsettled him. It’s clear that whatever has come up is pretty urgent and it causes a wave of guilt to ride up inside Eggsy- how dare he think only of himself in relation to Harry, when the man clearly has his own issues to deal with as well. Harry didn’t solely exist as Eggsy’s bodyguard- he exists as his own person too. Eggsy not allowing him this necessity would be on a Charlie Hesketh level of assholery.  


“Harry, it’s alright-” he starts to say, only to get interrupted by Harry again. “I’m really sorry, I can’t rearrange it and I need to- I’m really deeply sorry, I’ll try my best to arrive but I’m not sure if-”  


_“Harry,”_ Eggsy says sternly, and he falls silent. “It’s alright, really. Kay will protect me just fine.”  


There’s a steeped silence before Harry says, voice slightly rough, “I’ll send over Gawain and Uther anyway. They’re good and Kay can’t possibly cover all exits on her own.” There’s a considering pause, again, before Harry says, tentatively, “You know, it’s never to late to simply decline the-”

__

__“For fu- fudge’s sake, Harry,” Eggsy says, mindful of Daisy’s keen little eyes. His spoon scrapes off the last of the mush and Daisy’s eyes light up at the sound. “I’ve already RSPV-ed. And besides, you can still try your hardest to make it right?”  
_ _

__

__“I- yes, but-”  
_ _

__

__“Then try your hardest to make it, and send Ga- the other two agents for my mother instead,” Eggsy says, reaching across the table for the napkin. He hesitates, dabbing the corner of Daisy’s mouth with a napkin before adding, “And I hope- that thing you’re going on- I hope it goes well.”  
_ _

__

__“Thank you, Eggsy,” Harry says, a touch of warmth in his tone. “Kay will help me keep tabs on you- if anything goes wrong, I’ll be there in an instant. Stay safe, Eggsy.” The dial tone sounds, and Eggsy smiles for a bit, clutching the mobile to his chest. Of course Harry’s protective, its his duty and in his blood as a decent gentleman- but the mere thought, the potential of his protectiveness being due to more than just a gentlemanly sense of obligation makes a traitorous part of Eggsy sing.  
_ _

__

__That, however, didn’t change Harry being unable to make it to the gala. Eggsy puts his mobile down, sighing loudly. He’s on his own then- Harry had been supposed to be here by half past ten, and they would have had a wild enough time watching daytime cartoons and playing dollhouse with Daisy.  
_ _

__

__“It’s just you and me, flower,” he tells Daisy, who nods solemnly. “Let’s get you scrubbed up before we see what Bugs Bunny is up to, eh?”  
_ _

__

__“Bunny,” Daisy repeats, slapping his cheek again.  
_ _

__

__Precisely one hour later, however, the doorbell rings. Eggsy picks Daisy up from her position on the bed, where he had been rolling up the ends of her drawstring pants, and places her on his hip, waiting for a while more. After the shootout across London that had occurred and scared the shit out of Harry, he’d informed Eggsy that one of the tighter security measures would be each of his agents having a secret knock. One ring of the doorbell, five seconds, followed by two rings and a missed call. At the time, Eggsy had snorted and called it an overreaction, but now he thinks Harry may have had a point.  
_ _

__

__After about five tense seconds, though, there’s two more rings and then his mobile buzzes with Kay’s contact on the screen for about half a second. Relieved, Eggsy makes his way over to the door and opens it to reveal Kay, standing on the porch in a neatly pressed gray suit.  
_ _

__

__“Oh, I didn’t realise Miss Daisy is at home,” Kay says, blinking. “Where’s Michelle?”  
_ _

__

__“Mum’s with her friends,” Eggsy says, hefting Daisy up higher on his hip. “It’s me and Daisy for the whole afternoon, unfortunately. Is something wrong?”  
_ _

__

__“No, nothing, just-” Kay hesitates, her eyes on Daisy. She’s politely uncomfortable in a way Eggsy hasn’t really encountered on a person before, in the way a wallpaper colour or the tiling might make someone uncomfortable but not nearly enough to voice it out loud. For a split second he thinks its himself that’s making her uneasy, before he realizes her gaze hasn’t shifted from Daisy yet.  
_ _

__

__“I thought,” Kay finally says, “I might bring you to see Ector. Arthur suggested it, actually, but if Daisy is with you-”  
_ _

__

__“She can come along,” Eggsy says, perking up at the suggestion. The worry for Ector still niggles at the back of his mind, at times-the last he’d seen him, the man had been pale and bleeding out. It would take a hefty load off his heart to be able to talk to him for a bit, affirm his condition for himself. “Daisy can barely talk, ain’t like she’s going to pose a threat to national security or something.” Daisy gurgles, as if to agree.  
_ _

__

__“I don’t think-”  
_ _

__

__“Arthur knows she’s with me,” Eggsy adds. “It’s not like he didn’t know, when he suggested that to you. I’m sure he thought it would be perfectly fine. My flower’s a well-behaved girl, ain’t you, sweetheart?” He shakes her a little, to which she squeals in excitement. The corner of Kay’s lips twitch at the sight, which it should- Eggsy’s never met a person Daisy can’t charm.  
_ _

__

__“Alright, I suppose,” Kay says. “Gawain and Uther will follow us after we’re done at the hospital. Do you need help in…” she gestures with her head towards Daisy, although the expression on her face says she’s willing to do anything but. Lots of people are uneasy with kids, though, so Eggsy tries his best not to take it personally.  
_ _

__

__“Nah, I’m alright. Wait ahead in the car, will you?”  
_ _

__

__*  
_ _

__

__26 February 2014, 11:00 am  
_ _

__

__“So how’s Ector?” Eggsy asks, once he’s got Daisy settled into the booster seat beside him at the back of the car. Kay’s at the front, driving at a slower speed and occasionally looking at Daisy with an undecipherable look in her eye. It makes Eggsy want to start up a conversation or make useless small talk- anything to get that look away, because he knows why the look is there and he doesn’t want to let it fester. Nor does he want it affecting Daisy- for her initial upbringing and age, she’s unnaturally bright.  
_ _

__

__“Oh, alright I suppose,” Kay says. “The bullet was a clean through and through, but it did chip the bone slightly so he’s laid up in bed and has three months of physical therapy lined up for him when the doctors let him out. He’s a terrible patient too- yesterday he tried to make it to the toilet on his own, didn’t use the crutches, collapsed and caused every single alarm in the vicinity to blare.”  
_ _

__

__“Was he okay?” Eggsy asks, alarmed.  
_ _

__

__“A little miffed, but alright,” Kay says, snorting. “Arthur told him off- said he can’t expect to be in perfect health within two days of getting shot. A little hypocritical, if you ask me.” She swerves into a lane, as the row of apartment complexes and buildings mellow out into rows of trees and greenery. The countryside- Eggsy’s pretty sure he’s never been in this part of London before, except by train.  
_ _

__

__At Kay’s last words, a yearning rises up in him- why would that be hypocritical of Harry? Had Harry been laid up in hospital? What had happened- was he on a mission, did he get hurt? What had Harry been like, before? The questions trip over themselves, building up on his tongue, a wealth of curiosity asking for deeper insight into Harry is, was, but he knows better than to ask. He’s just Harry’s client, after all. It’s not his place to ask. Instead, he says, “We’re in the countryside?”  
_ _

__

__“It is a private hospital,” Kay says, inching forward carefully. Her eyes meet Eggsy’s in the rear view and she says, “You can ask me anything about Harry, I don’t mind.”  
_ _

__

__Eggsy drums his fingers a little on his knee, casting a careful glance over Daisy. She’s in fancy little blue overalls, shiny sequins spelling out rosie at the front with her feet covered in squeaky shoes. It’s a new outfit Eggsy had bought a week ago on a whim- a luxury Eggsy can afford now that he’s on a singer’s salary. Signing on to Kingsman has made Eggsy loosen his restraint, bit by bit, on certain things such as buying his girls little gifts or occasionally splurging on a new guitar. In other ways, though, he’s still the same tight lipped lad that used to get beat up every other week by rude clients and an abusive stepfather. There are certain things you do not Do, and despite Kay’s easy smile, Eggsy has an inkling that asking about Harry’s murky MI6 past is one of them.  
_ _

__

__“Harry won’t mind, either,” Kay continues. There’s a row of quaint little houses on their left side, now, with the occasional pedestrian taking a stroll out. Daisy lifts the end of the seat belt, dangling past her booster seat and chews at the end of it and Eggsy pulls it away with a muttered curse. “He’s secretive, I know, but it’s alright, really.”  
_ _

__

__“He recruited you from MI6, then?” Eggsy asks, and watches as Kay’s features are covered briefly in shock, before it mellows out in a pleased smile. She’d probably expected him to be far more interested in Harry’s past than hers.  
_ _

__

__“Yes,” Kay says, grinning. “I’d heard stories about him, you know. He was in the service for a decade, but he’d done so much- protected the royal family from sixteen assassination attempts, topple terrorist groups and world domination plots, help dismantle international criminal and trafficking rings. He had been a force to be reckoned with, but he left two years before I joined MI6.” Her eyes in the mirror are wistful, full of admiration, and it fills Eggsy with a weird sense of pride, to know Harry had been such a revered, legendary figure at one of the world’s top-notch espionage organizations.  
_ _

__

__“How did you meet him, then?”  
_ _

__

__Kay shrugs, the universal sign of evasiveness. “Some things weren’t… sitting right with me, in MI6. I left, but not before a mutual friend recommended me to go to Harry for a job post MI6. I did, and he was very gracious about it.” Her eyes meet his in the rearview mirror, and she grins. “He’s a gentleman, through and through.” The look in her eyes is slightly knowing and for a moment, Eggsy wonders if she and Ector ever gossip about their boss. He’s the first one to shift his gaze away instead, casting them on the window next to him as the car rolls into the carpark of a sprawling complex, a shock of white amidst the cartoonish suburban houses. As it comes to a stop, Eggsy unclips Daisy’s seatbelt and lifts her into his arms, sliding out of the car and keeping his sunglasses on with his hood on low. He doesn’t think anyone’s about to recognize him this far out in the country but either way, he’s not enough of an idiot to actually take the risk.  
_ _

__

__The hospital is cold, sterile and quiet- the still air making even Eggsy’s innards freeze into blocks of ice. Daisy turns her head into Eggsy’s neck more firmly, snuffling quietly, and he smooths a hand over her back, rubbing gently. It’s not her first time in a hospital but it’s probably the first time that she’ll remember being in one and in any case, hospitals aren’t pleasant places. This particular one may be a private hospital but it’s no less of an utterly lifeless, depressing hallmark of the sick and the dying. Eggsy tugs his hood on more firmly and notices the lack of people in the waiting room, save for a sniffling elderly woman in the corner and a mother of three kids, all armed with iPads in the chairs of the room.  
_ _

__

__“This hospital is one of those reserved for celebrities and particular agencies as well,” Kay says in a hushed voice, leading the way to the lift. Once they’re in one she presses the button for the fourth level and continues, “The entire fourth level, however, is just for us.”  
_ _

__

__Eggsy blinks, surprised. An entire level? He schools his shock into indifference but doesn’t know if he succeeds, especially since Kay takes one look at his face and snorts. “Harry must have a lot of business,” Eggsy says, as the lift stops and they get out. “To be able to buy out an entire level.”  
_ _

__

__“He does,” Kay says, shrugging. “Hart Securities is always in high demand. He’s also from old money, you know- helps quite a bit. This way, please.”  
_ _

__

__The corridor is long and winding, wide with closed doors and rows of velvet cushion backed chairs. Most of them are empty, save for the rare one occupied by someone deep in sleep or deep in their phones. Eggsy hurries along behind Kay’s long, striding walk, his arms aching slightly from holding Daisy as he asks, “Old money?”  
_ _

__

__“His grandfather was a duke,” Kay says, snorting again. “You wouldn’t know it, looking at him.”  
_ _

__

__Contrary to that, though, Eggsy kind of sees it. He thinks back to Harry’s mannerisms- his perfectly articulated speech, his mild, polite demeanour and the steadfast certainty in his decisions. Back in that restroom when Harry had apologized- Eggsy sees it now, in the way Harry had carefully elocuted out his apology in the most respectful of tones. Blue blood could either breed a complete asshole or a complete noble- it seems that in Harry’s case, it has been the latter.  
_ _

__

__Grandson of a duke, though. Eggsy shifts Daisy in his arms, feeling slightly warm in his face. Did he have a title, as well? What had his grandfather been the duke of? For a split second, Eggsy imagines if it were indeed the times of feudal monarchies. Would Harry have accepted him as his duchess?  
_ _

__

__The thought, stray and fleeting as it is, serves to set his face on fire, and he only manages to just get his blush down when Kay comes to a stop and announces, “Here he is!”  
_ _

__

__She pushes the door, holding it open very graciously for Eggsy who gives a nod of thanks, stepping inside to see Ector up and seated in bed, his leg elevated as he sets aside what looks to be an issue of Cosmopolitan. He’s still a few shades too pale for Eggsy’s liking, the lines of his face tight with pain. The table beside him has what looks like a garishly pink teddy bear holding the sign AND A BEARY GOOD DAY TO YOU and a vase full of carnations, of all things.  
_ _

__

__Ector frowns at Eggsy. “Eggsy, you’re here! I didn’t think you had clearance?” His eyes track Daisy’s movements as she raises her head, taking in the décor of the room. “I know she definitely doesn’t have clearance.”  
_ _

__

__“What can I say, he was terribly persuasive,” Kay drawls, striding across the room to pick up the magazine, sifting through the pages. “Arthur gave him clearance.”  
_ _

__

__“Arthur’s hellish about his safety,” Ector says, and imitates a low, posh drawl. “Any second left unprotected is a second X can attack!”  
_ _

__

__Kay sets the magazine down, frowning at Ector while Eggsy sets himself down on a chair, placing Daisy on his lap and bringing the hood off his face. Daisy instantly makes a grab for his sunglasses, so he pulls them out of her grasp and folds them one handed before shoving them into the front pocket of his jeans, ignoring the pout on Daisy’s face. “Arthur had a change of heart,” Kay says, affronted to have her integrity questioned. “He can’t make it for the gala, and-”  
_ _

__

__“What gala?” Ector interrupts, grunting and hefting himself into an even more upright position. “Eggsy, what gala? Don’t be an idiot, you were just shot at-” he tries to shift upward again, and grunts in pain.  
_ _

__

__“Don’t move, oh my god,” Eggsy hisses, keeping Daisy carefully in his lap as he leans forward to adjust the bedding that had shifted out of place. “Are you- I’m so sorry, you got shot because you came after me and you didn’t call backup-”  
_ _

“I didn’t call backup because I didn’t want to,” Ector says in a snort. He waves at Kay dismissively, who takes a seat, picking the magazine back up again. “Besides, coming after you and protecting you at cost to myself is my job. The sooner you accept that, the happier we’ll all be.” He leans over as much as he can with his leg levitated, and coos at Daisy who giggles. “ _Especially_ you, baby girl. She yours?”  


___ _

___Eggsy starts at that, and then realizes that before the shootout he hadn’t talked much with Ector. Of course Ector wouldn’t have known about Daisy’s existence, he thinks. He scoots forward a little in his chair so that Ector can give her a tiny handshake and shakes his head. “No, she’s my half-sister.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___There isn’t a look of surprise in Ector’s eyes, which shouldn’t really take Eggsy aback. Of course he’d known about Eggsy’s entire family, including his cousins twice removed- that’s also his job. It still takes Eggsy by surprise, though- agents employed by Harry really have their conversations curated to hide certain intricacies, certain details. It definitely makes Eggsy wonder- was every single agent in his organization ex-military or were they, like him, ex-espionage? How safe is that, really, hiring people scorned by agency and country to protect people?  
_ _ _

___ _

____He’s brought back to the present by Ector making funny faces at Daisy. “You’re cool with kids,” he tells him suspiciously. “Not your first encounter?”_  
_

Ector shakes his head, gaze focused on Daisy, who babbles nonsense. “My little brother- he’s very young,” he explains. “Right smart kid, though. He got an A for his English test last week.” He looks insanely proud of that fact.

__

Kay turns a page of the magazine, the shift insanely loud in the quiet of the hospital room. And it is quiet; the only sounds that echo are the whirring sounds of the heart monitor Ector is hooked up to, and the monotonous, hypnotizing droning of the air conditioner. Every single time Eggsy’s been in a hospital it had been filled with buzz, bustle and white noise- his mother had hardly been able to afford private rooms even with insurance. He remembers sitting with his mother in the waiting room while she waited to get her broken wrist checked out, and vice versa. Every single one is an unpleasant experience, right down to the very last time when he’d had to get hospitalized for the stab wounds in his stomach courtesy of Dean’s crazily swinging beer bottle. Even though he’d had his mother, Daisy, and his friends to keep him company it was hardly a pleasant ride- especially at night, with the emergency ward crackling with life and activity with various nurses and doctors shouting out orders echoed like the ghost of the exigent.

___ _

___“Harry’s taken me off your case,” Ector says, shifting slightly again. “Said some bullshit about me needing to take care of myself, or summat.” He looks irritable at the very thought of needing a bit of recuperation, which strikes Eggsy as hilarious considering he’s laid up in bed with a shot ankle now. “I’ve had no updates, and Kay refuses to tell me anything.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“It’s because you were taken off the case, Ector,” Kay snaps, looking up from the magazine and affixing Ector with a glare. “A concept you can’t seem to understand.” The entreaty gets ignored by the man in question, who sets a slightly pleading look on Eggsy.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Come on, Unwin- did anything else happen? Did you receive any more threats?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Not- exactly,” Eggsy says uncertainly. He glances at Kay, who turns another page in her magazine with a mite more force. Daisy grabs the lapels of his jacket- it’s a dark green bomber jacket, and one Eggsy’s very fond of given that Merlin had gifted it to him as a congratulatory present for winning a Grammy- and shoves one into her mouth. He takes great care in removing it again, with a firm, “Not for eating, Daisy-girl.” He looks up again to see Ector still staring at him expectantly.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“If you’re not guarding me anymore, I don’t think-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Oh, come off it,” Ector retorts. “I’m smart, and I’m going out of my mind lying here uselessly like a limp-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“It’s only been two days!” Kay exclaims, looking at him incredulously. As if on cue, her mobile starts to ring in a loud blare, causing Daisy to jump in Eggsy’s lap.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I have to take this,” Kay says hastily, jumping up and rushing out the door, the still blaring mobile in her hand. The door swings shut behind her with a loud thud, the finality of the sound jarring in that it cancels out any and all noise from outside. Once she’s gone, Ector, who had slumped a bit, sits upright again.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“She’s gone,” he explains, “so you can tell me if you received any threat.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Technically, I shouldn’t even be telling you-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Technically,” Ector interrupts, a glint in his eye, “I wouldn’t be in this bed if it weren’t for you, so you owe me that, at least.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy gapes at him, unsure if Ector is taking the piss or not. His face is serious, not a lick of emotion, and even if Eggsy had heard him say it had been perfectly alright maybe Ector still had some residual resentment against him for getting shot and consequently being removed from the field. Agents like Ector must like the action but not the injuries, after all, and it was perfectly within his rights to hold a grudge against- and then Ector’s lips twitch, and Eggsy realizes exactly what he’s doing.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You’re manipulating me!” Eggsy gasps. “You- you-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Call me an asshole, but please update me first,” Ector says, lips stretched in a full blown grin. Daisy, who’d been this sitting down calmly for the entirety of the conversation, giggles all of a sudden and tries to stand up, her foot pushing down on Eggsy’s thigh. “Language, Ector, Christ,” Eggsy says, helping her to fully stand up until the top of her head touches Eggsy’s chin. “There’s a kid here.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Sorry,” Ector says, looking mildly abashed, before sitting patiently and staring at Eggsy, eyes wide with anticipation. The tips of his fingers drum an erratic rhythm on the bedspread, making Eggsy rather feel like he’s looking at a five-year-old kid than a twenty something adult.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I received a note,” Eggsy says, sighing. “Roxy and I had gone to eat at that Indian place opposite the Kingsman Records building, and there was this dude- he got up to leave, and he dropped a note to the floor behind him. Roxy and I were about to return it when we-” he swallows again, and says, “We saw that the note was a photograph. Of- of me and B-Brandon. And on the other side was a threat saying that Brandon gave X the note.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Ector’s eyes have gone analytical, cold in their detection. “What exactly did the note say?”  
_ _ _

“I- hang on, I snapped a photo of it-” With a bit of difficulty, he fishes his phone out of the pocket of his jacket and keeping it out of reach of Daisy, scrolls to his album and fishes the message out where it clearly reads: _Don’t fret, I didn’t steal this. Your darling, lovely Brandon gave this to me. -X_  


He hands it to Ector who inspects it, squinting until there’s a line between his brows. He hands the mobile back, raising his eyebrows. “That’s a girl, innit? Or a guy who’s definitely not straight, anyway.”

___ _

___Eggsy frowns. “How can you tell?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Ector rolls his eyes. “They called your Brandon darling and lovely. You really think a straight white man from South London would call someone else that? The implications of this note-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Brandon would never do that to me,” Eggsy snaps, feeling his spine inch into something that is painfully ramrod straight, tension in every sinew and muscle. “He wouldn’t ever- fu- go around with someone who clearly wants to off me.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Wouldn’t he?” Ector’s gaze is searing and painful, deadly serious without a hint of mirth. “I know next to nothing about Brandon, Eggsy, so you tell me- did you know every single little detail about him prior to his-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I did!” Eggsy exclaims in response, glaring back, rubbing a soothing hand over Daisy’s back as she whimpers. But in his head the seeds of doubt have already been planted and fester, lingering like bad breath. He and Brandon had fallen out numerous times, over the course of their- whatever the hell it was. The glaring connection between Brandon and X had been unmistakeable but even more glaring now was the fact that that connection could have been more insidious and revealing than Eggsy had thought. He glances at the note again, his stomach churning.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m not saying he had a relationship with this X or anything,” Ector says, more softly. “I’m saying you have to be prepared for the implications, if he did. You can’t run away from this one, Eggsy.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“For a prat, you give good advice,” Eggsy says sourly, still smarting. He shuts his phone now, not ready to deal with the possible What Ifs, stowing it away in his pocket. Daisy pokes the bulge, saying, “Ph-one.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I know,” Ector says matter-of-factly, straightening up again. “That brings me to my next point. Eggsy- be careful.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m already careful, mate, I have a murderer on my arse-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I don’t mean that,” Ector says, rolling his eyes. “I mean, X could be working with people.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Obviously,” Eggsy says waspishly. “How else would they have sent bloody gunmen after me?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You’re not listening to me,” Ector gripes, utterly serious. He reaches forward and grips Eggsy’s hand urgently, giving it a rough squeeze that grinds his wrist bones together painfully. “I was in this bed for two days, Eggsy, and it’s given me a whole lot of time to think. No one could have known where we were in that park- save for those in the Kingsman Records building, and those who had access to your tracker and that, I crushed pretty quickly.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“What are you getting at?” Eggsy hisses, his heart thumping pretty fast.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“We could have a leak,” Ector says urgently, his voice low and serious. “I’m not sure yet, but I think- we could have an insider working for X. Could be anyone- it could be Merlin, Roxy, Arthur-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Harry would never betray me,” Eggsy snaps, jerking away from his grip. A mild sort of horror sets in as he stares at Ector who’s pale, the set of his mouth utterly determined. “He wouldn’t- you know him, he would never do that.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Yeah, he wouldn’t, I was just trying to get the point across,” Ector sighs, leaning back. “The bugger is too morally upright for that. What I’m saying is be careful of anyone else. If the inside leak is true, then-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Then the only person I’m safe with is Harry,” Eggsy says, heart beating in triplicate against his ribs. A cold fine sweat settles against his back and he wishes sorely that he could take his jacket off. An inside leak- the implications of that, as well, were bone rattling.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“No, set your boner aside for my boss for one second and think,” Ector says, rolling his eyes again and ignoring Eggsy’s scowl. “It means that at every moment you’re in danger. It means at any moment, X could strike. It means, Eggsy, that even now, X could still have eyes on you, and no one would be any the wiser- even the ever illustrious Arthur.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___For a hot second, they just stare at each other, Eggsy with fear in every line of his posture and Ector’s grim face wrought in anxiety.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m off your case,” Ector says quietly. “I can’t do anything. Be careful, Eggsy- and trust no one.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___*  
_ _ _

___ _

___15 November 2010, 5:00 pm  
_ _ _

When the knock comes on the door, Eggsy is the only one available to answer it. His mother’s in her bedroom, the blinds shut and the lights off to stave off the nausea and occasional migraines, and Dean’s god knows where. Shutting the book titled _What to Expect When The Baby’s Out _Eggsy trods over to the door and opens it, and then stares.  
__

____

“Mrs Demba,” he stammers. Mrs Demba, tall- taller than him, even- willowy and dark skinned, smiles shakily at him and remains on the front step. “I- how can I- please, come in.” He steps aside, cursing his own useless tongue. There are a thousand questions he wants to ask but he buries them all within his throat because the one he wants to ask the most is the one that is the most insincere. And yet, as Mrs Demba steps daintily over the step, floundering awkwardly in the cluttered room with two sofas, a cradle and a refrigerator crammed in one, he can’t help but wonder. _Did Brandon send you?_  


_____ _

___“I won’t stay long, don’t worry,” she says, hands twisting. Her eyes flit around, looking at but not taking in the filthy mess that is the living room. For a hot minute Eggsy feels slightly embarrassed for living in a dump like this- then again, this is the usual status quo for every single apartment on the block. The only apartment that looks somewhat presentable and liveable is probably Jamal’s family’s apartment, where everyone chips in to do their bit because they are the only functional family unit on the block.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I- Michelle actually told me you were back,” Mrs Demba says, a wary glance towards the closed door of the bedroom. Eggsy’s eyes drift towards her hands, and that’s when he realizes that she’s clutching them together to keep them from shaking. This isn’t a social call.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You better sit, Mrs Demba,” he says worriedly, moving a stack of newspapers off a tartan armchair which looks more grey than anything. She sits down with a thump, staring at her knees. Brandon’s mother is a quiet, well-mannered but timid woman, rarely speaking her mind- rarely speaking at all, actually. Living with an abusive husband will do that to you- tamp down on your voice and opinions until you forget what it feels like, to have a will of your own. Eggsy’s seen it happen to his mother after all- unlike with Mrs Demba, though, for Michelle Unwin drugs and alcohol had also been added to the mix. Hence, the fact that she’s here, in Eggsy’s filthy apartment in the absence of either of her sons or husband is very out of the norm. Eggsy taps his fingers on his left knee nervously, waiting for her to collect her thoughts together.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I know you ain’t friends with my son no more, Eggsy,” Mrs Demba says, voice quiet, “but I’m getting worried for him.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy swallows down his guilt. The day before he’d left for the marines had been a tough one- Brandon had never been supportive of his decision to join the marines and had accused him more than once of abandoning his family to go off gallivanting on his own. That day, Brandon had come around drunk off his arse, shouting at Eggsy and it had devolved into a vicious argument the likes of which neither of them have ever engaged in before. Hurtful things had been said, and only Jamal, Ryan and his mother had been there to see him off.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I’ll always be his friend, Mrs Demba,” Eggsy says, around the lump in his throat. “What’s happening?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“He’s- you know, his father forced him into the business,” Mrs Demba says, glancing up, her eyes glimmering with tears. “But Brandon was never that sorta man. He hated it- he used excuses for why nobody was buying his drugs, used to flush them down the toilet rather than ingest them. You know him, Eggsy,” Mrs Demba says, her eyes pleading. She’s right- Brandon may have his faults, but he’s got a set of morals and values to stick to. It would take a lot to make him sway from them, off the beaten path.  
_ _ _

___ _

___A cold shard of ice slides down Eggsy’s back, as he looks at Mrs Demba’s trembling hands, her pale, drawn in cheeks.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“It started about a month after you left for the marines,” Mrs Demba says quietly. “He started getting withdrawn but I thought nothing of it but he started coming home later and later. His- temperament got better instantly too- one day he was quiet and morose, the next he was smiling and taking me out to a restaurant well out of his pay grade. He’s become so secretive too- his door always locked, the contacts on his phone blocked- I know my son, Eggsy, and I know that he doesn’t change moods like that in the snap of a finger. Please, believe me-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I believe you,” Eggsy says, but his heart is racing. A cheerful and yet, secretive Brandon? He’s always been open with his friends and family, not hiding anything except when absolutely necessary. He opens his mouth and closes it again, not sure if asking if Brandon’s still in the drug ring would be overstepping his boundary.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Fortunately Mrs Demba manages to read his mind and parse through exactly what he wants to say, for she continues, “He joined the ring, you know, because a few of that awful woman’s friends came over and started to threaten us- pushing him around and holding a gun to Liam’s head if he didn’t go with them.” She looks down again, almost in shame, at her fingers tightly intertwined and clenched together in a show of anxiety. On the back of her hand is a large scar- white, stark like a slash across the brown of her skin. Eggsy doesn’t know where she’s got it from but remembers that it’s been there, a part of her features for as long as he’s known her- and anyway, it doesn’t take a lot to figure where it’s come from. Brandon’s father, after all, had seemed like the type of man to leave scars on the things he loved the most.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“He joined back, didn’t he?” Distantly, he recognizes that Brandon must have kept this from him- a carefully crafted lie. Then again, in the days after Brandon’s father’s death, he hadn’t been the best of friends either. Brandon had been well within his rights to keep his secrets. Who is Eggsy to take the upper road on a man who’s just protecting his family? He himself, after all, had left his.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Mrs Demba leans forward, and clutches Eggsy’s hand with her own. The grip is vice-like, tight in her fear. “Please,” she whispers, eyes wide and pleading. “He’s my son. After- after Ethan, I can’t lose anyone else.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Okay,” says Eggsy, swallowing roughly.  
_ _ _

___ _

___*  
_ _ _

___ _

___The door is locked, when Eggsy heads over with a fresh new bruise on his ribs and ankle, courtesy of Dean. Straightening out his shoulders and smiling easily at a young woman out with her baby, who quickly scurries away, he waits a while before knocking again. He knows for a fact that Brandon is alone; Mrs Demba had gone out to one of her weekly bingo meetings and taken a deeply reluctant Liam with her.  
_ _ _

___ _

___He’s about to knock again when there’s an audible grumbling from inside the apartment. “I said I’m coming already, hang on-” and then the door is practically yanked open, with Brandon standing on the front step of the apartment. His look of annoyance melts into a look of abject shock, jaw hanging all the way to the floor, and it almost makes Eggsy want to tease him about flies going right into his mouth.  
_ _ _

___ _

___For some reason, Eggsy thinks, he’d expected Brandon to be different. More scars, perhaps- running the drug ring mustn’t have been easy after the upheaval of leadership, or maybe broader shoulders, tanner skin. What greets him is the same Brandon he’d fought with before he left. The only difference is in his eyes- they look heavier than before, as though they carry a weight. The idea of a man with such eyes having a positive, cheerful disposition for most days makes Eggsy do a double take.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Can I come in?” Eggsy asks, when it looks like Brandon is just going to keep staring at him, eyes wide and mouth open. He hadn’t exactly known what reaction he’d been going for- maybe not that, though.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I- thing is, I’m kind of- busy-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Thanks bruv,” Eggsy says loudly, and pushes his way past Brandon, closing the door with a click. Turning around, he examines the room. Most of the apartments in the Rowley estate are small and cramped, with three rooms at best and every inch taken up by furniture. This one is no exception, but somehow Mrs Demba has managed to make the clutter look almost cozy and artistic. The sofa is covered with beaded throw pillows, the chairs with an intricately patterned woolen cover, and the stretch of space in front of the tv with a subtle, maroon carpet. Eggsy toes his shoes off at the door and heads in, completely disregarding Brandon’s look of aghast outrage.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Eggsy, stop,” Brandon snaps. “I’m not in the mood to entertain visitors- I’m really busy, and-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Busy selling drugs, you mean?” Eggsy says lightly, and feels Brandon freeze from behind him.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Maybe it is unwise to use the only trump card he has this early, but looking around he’d noticed the photo frame of Brandon and himself with their arms around each other, and that had sparked a certain- something, inside him. Back then, if he’d turned up unannounced Brandon would have welcomed him in with open arms. Now, the expression on him is wooden and impassive, revealing nothing but the fact that things have changed irreversibly between them.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m just supporting my family,” Brandon says stiffly, his eyes narrow. “You have no right to judge-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m not judging anything,” Eggsy says, standing still. He purposely keeps his voice low and his limbs loose to prevent Brandon from freaking out too much. “Your mother asked me-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“How was the marines?” Brandon interrupts. He folds his arms, keeping his hands tucked beneath his armpits. Eggsy stares at him, struck a little dumb by the nonsequitur.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Good, yeah,” he finally says, when the silence starts to approach this side of being a little too uncomfortable. “My mum got pregnant, that’s- that’s why I left.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Oh,” Brandon says softly. Silence descends on them again, for the umpteenth time. The upside of it is that now Brandon looks less like a cornered animal and more contemplative, like he’s seeing Eggsy for the first time. He casts his eyes over Eggsy and the roving gaze feels a little too intimate for the setting, making Eggsy clear his throat and move over to the mantle in a corner of the room holding that photograph of them. “I didn’t know you had this, still.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Mum wouldn’t let me keep it in the drawer,” Brandon explains, coming to stand beside him.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy reaches out a hand, about to pick up the frame, when he notices it. It’s an innocuous little thing, a tiny transparent packet holding little white crystals. The family’s sole breadwinner was in the business, after all, he could bloody well leave their little drugs lying around if they wanted. It’s what’s written on the packet that makes Eggsy’s blood freeze, turning into huge blocks of ice.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“This packet says it’s for you,” he says, picking it up and shaking it. The crystals jump around in the packet, the white reflecting off of it in a blinding manner. “It’s written right here- it’s your name.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Brandon, in an instant, snatches the packet from his fingers, flushing a dull red.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Brandon,” Eggsy says suspiciously. “Are- are you taking drugs?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“These aren’t drugs,” Brandon says.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy stares back at him incredulously, and then back at the packet. Noticing his gaze, Brandon stows it instantly in the pocket of his jacket, flushing an even darker crimson. Even if, for some stupid reason, the crystals had been candy or something else as equally negligible, his reaction was a dead giveaway for what the crystals actually were. The significance of it, in the particular wake of that, was staggering.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You swore- you told me you’d never actually take drugs,” Eggsy says accusingly, stumbling back a few steps. Mrs Demba, he realizes with a dawning horror, had been right to worry. Her own son, following in the footsteps of his deadbeat father. There’s a dull pounding in his ears and he doesn’t know which emotion to attribute it to- grief, rage or guilt. “What the fuck, Brandon?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“If you’d actually listen to me,” Brandon snaps, reaching for Eggsy, then looking stricken when he backs away even further. A few steps more, and he’d be out the house completely. “These aren’t drugs, these are- something greater. Look- Poppy’s making them-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“ _Poppy _, the woman who killed your father, Poppy?” Eggsy shrieks, the tone reaching a note too high for it to have been made by a man. “Are you serious? What, you two are buddies now?”  
___ _ _

___ _

___“She’s a genius, Eggsy,” Brandon snaps. “She’s been making these pills, and they’re absolutely amazing. They enhance all your senses- sense of smell, strength, hearing, all that. They make you superhuman, invisible- and there are no consequences! No threats of cancer, no illnesses- she’s brilliant, and she’s helping to improve humanity!”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy stares back, completely dumbfounded. Brandon sounded like he was absolutely in love. No, not love- devoted, like he would spend every hour worshipping at the altar of Poppy Adams if he could. The realization that this has happened only because Eggsy had left the estates hits him like a brick to the face. This… this is his fault.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Eggsy,” Brandon says, his voice pleading. “Eggsy, if you would just come with me and meet her- she’ll explain everything. You just have to come with me. You just have to-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“What, trust you?” Eggsy lets out a laugh, too high for it to be anything but hysterical. There’s a strange, boulder sized lump lodged in his throat. “I can’t, this is- she murdered your dad!”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Because it was necessary!” Brandon roars, and it echoes like a gong. “She had to make us realise the error of our ways! What use is peddling drugs when we don’t improve the status quo? She’s making everyone here better, Eggsy, and you fucking missed it because you were off fucking about in fucking Iraq!”  
_ _ _

___ _

___There’s a deafening silence after that. Brandon stares at him, his chest heaving and his cheeks ruddy with emotion and anger. His eyes are watery, about to spill over and Eggsy knows that if any of them spill, his resolve will break.  
_ _ _

___ _

___He takes a deep breath, and turns away.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I love you, Brandon,” he says, turning the knob of the door open, “but not enough to believe in a murderer.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___*  
_ _ _

___ _

___26 February 2014, 7:00 pm  
_ _ _

___ _

___“We’re running late, Eggsy,” Kay says anxiously. She’s in a charcoal black suit, but with her lips done up with a touch of gloss and her cheeks glimmering with artfully applied make up. “The event starts at eight.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I know, just-” Eggsy twists his own hands anxiously, his stomach churning. He’s tried Harry phone for five minutes before that, with each call going to voicemail. The night hadn’t really gone that well, either way, with his mother texting him at the last minute that she was going to stay over at a friend’s house, and to find a babysitter for Daisy. Such negligence on her part was never heard of so Eggsy had tried her phone for it to go to voicemail as well- he had ended up begging Jamal to babysit, who was only too glad to do so.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“No worries, bruv,” he’d told Eggsy, bouncing Daisy on his hip. “She and I are about to have a wild time watching How to Train Your Dragon, aren’t we?” Daisy had babbled, saying, “Toof-ess!” in response.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Harry had stated at the start of the day that he would try his best to make it and Eggsy had taken it to heart. Now, shoved into a forest green tuxedo with black lapels and charcoal black trousers, he’s resorted to twiddling his thumbs and glancing at the clock every five minutes like a swooning, delicate heroine waiting for her bodice ripping white knight to come home. Kay sends him another look, already raring to go.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Eggsy, I’m pretty sure he can’t make it.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“He would have told me by now,” Eggsy retorts instantly, suppressing the urge to snap. “Look, just give him fifteen more, alright?” He takes out his phone again and sends off another text to his mum, which goes unread. That’s another worry that Eggsy can’t spend too much time dithering over, if he doesn’t want to ruin his perfectly good tuxedo jacket with unsightly sweat patches.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Another ten minutes pass, which Eggsy spends mostly pacing, asking Jamal about Daisy, and sending both Harry and his mum numerous texts. Neither of them reply, and at the twelfth minute mark Merlin sends him a fairly ominous, _I rather hope you’re on your way to the gala by now. _  
___ _ _

___ _

___Upon receiving that particularly happy text, Eggsy sighs and looks up at Kay. “I think it’s time to leave, I doubt he’s coming-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Right on cue, the doorbell rings.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Ever paranoid, Kay instantly brings her gun out but the look of suspicion fades into a pleased smile once she ascertains who is on the other side of the door. She unlocks the door and steps aside, and in walks Harry, hair perfectly coiffed to perfection and clad in a black pinstriped suit tailored to every limber angle of his body, the very vision of elegance. He walks into the living room and stops at the sight of Eggsy, standing nervously by the dinner table and clutching his phone.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You look-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Dumb as all hell, I know,” Eggsy cuts in with a shaky laugh. Harry’s eyes have gone dark, his face framed in shock. Eggsy doesn’t even want to fathom what that could possibly mean. “It’s Giorgio Armani fashion, you know how the man is-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“No, it- your eyes are absolutely lovely,” Harry cuts in, his words rough and stilted, like he’s trying to stop them but they spill out anyway. “And they look even lovelier now. You look- absolutely loverly,” he adds, with a slow smile.  
_ _ _

___ _

___The words send a dose of warmth through Eggsy, making his insides twist in delight. All he’s wanted for days, is for Harry to look as he does now- absolutely enraptured. Now that it’s a reality, it makes his heart swell thrice in size, feeling too big for his chest. He steps up to Harry, his face upturned towards him like a flower towards the sun.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Thank you,” Eggsy says softly. “You clean up very, very nice too.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Harry’s ears turn pink at the compliment but his smile grows wider, and they smile stupidly at each other for five seconds before Kay coughs delicately, sending them out of their temporary trance and out of the apartment in a hurry._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes-
> 
> 1) this chapter is TERRIBLY LATE and I apologize, I just got caught up in the interviews from the robin hood press tour lmao  
> 2) in the flashback, eggsy is back home from the military bc michelle is pregnant, as per canon. hope that's clear XD  
> 3) the Giorgio Armani gag at the end is inspired by a telegraph interview taron did, in which he states Giorgio Armani apparently cupped his face with his hands and looked into his eyes for a bit. if that's not eccentric, idk what is lmao  
> 4) the next chapter is from harry's pov of his side of the events that take place in the day this chapter was set in. it's by far the hardest chapter I've had to do bc for the life of me I couldn't get a solid hold on harry's 'voice' jaknljnf  
> 5) comments and kudoses are always appreciated! may take me a bit of time to reply to them but I assure you I treasure every single one!! a recent comment was so sweet it made me inspired enough to finish off the latest chapter for this story so WHO KNOWS maybe you'll get updates faster!!! ;D


	11. Chapter 11- Harry

26 February 2014, 10:30 am  


After clicking the end call option, Harry stares forlornly at his phone for a minute, cranking up the cold air in his car after a while. The echoes of Eggsy’s voice, light and lilting with a touch of warmth ring in his ears. _I hope it goes well. _Five words, and they had sent his heart stuttering into triplicate- utterly deplorable. He hasn’t felt this unseated by the mere sound of someone’s voice since the one case that had launched his retirement plan out of MI6.  
__

__

__The car door of the passenger’s seat opens and Merlin slides in, clad in an uncharacteristic black blazer and washed out jeans. Suede shoes too- for Merlin standards, this is the equivalent of black tie.  
_ _

__

__“You’re late,” Harry says, putting his phone away and glancing over at Merlin. “What the hell are you wearing, anyway? Are those shoes new?”  
_ _

__

__“You dinnae need to look so shocked,” Merlin says, voice rough and accented with sleep. “Just thought it might be more suited to this.”  
_ _

__

__“All we’re doing,” Harry grumbles, “is meeting this Samantha person. Anyway, I don’t know why we can’t just reschedule. I’m missing this gala, you know.”  
_ _

__

__“Ginger,” Merlin says, and at Harry’s befuddled look, adds, “she prefers Ginger.”  
_ _

__

__“Talk to her a lot, do you,” Harry says dryly, utterly unsurprised at Merlin’s blush. Their acquaintance with Samantha Cromwell, an American who had been promoted from the Holborn precinct to Scotland Yard for her exemplary work regarding the case of the warehouse fire. Harry had scrounged up all his dried up contacts within the seedy underbelly of London to probe deeper into the warehouse fire and had turned up a police report filed by then Detective Cromwell, who had ruled it as a gang fight gone wrong- according to the testimonies of the aforementioned gang members: Dean Baker, Matthew ‘Rottie’ Smithers and yes; Gary Unwin.  
_ _

__

__Harry’s hardly the type to poke his nose into the secrets his clients keep. They’re only paying him enough to protect them, after all- all he’s supposed to do is kill anyone who shows up to challenge that role. He’d meant to assume that view when it came to Eggsy, too- until he had confronted Eggsy in the loo of the lobby of Kingsman Records. He is well aware of the courage it had taken Eggsy to even begin to tell him about Brandon- he is also just as well aware of the fact that Eggsy had lied to him.  
_ _

__

__A lie by omission, of course, is still a lie.  
_ _

__

__Harry didn’t blame Eggsy for any of it. Not now, anyway- after the initial feelings of betrayal had subsided he’d ruminated on it and then realized that there was something more to this, somehow, than just Eggsy. He, Brandon, and Detective Cromwell had all, somehow, been pieces of a chess game someone had had fun playing with four years or so ago. Harry’s not that much of an idiot to miss the fact that now, four years later, someone has taken out the chess board again.  
_ _

__

__To figure out what had happened, all those years ago, Harry had to do something. Interrogating either Eggsy or Brandon was out of the question because simply put, the latter was dead and the former was not to be put under any distress whatsoever- Harry’s clients always had the most optimal service under his care. Samantha Cromwell, now in Scotland Yard, had been the only option left.  
_ _

__

__“You know she was only available today,” Merlin says resolutely. “Might I remind you, too, that if not for my very pleasant manner of communication-”  
_ _

__

__“I’m sure it was,” Harry mutters.  
_ _

__

__“-she wouldn’t have agreed to meet us today. Very skittish, she was. Take a right here- for god’s sake, don’t swerve that sharp! What are you trying to do, have us both get more intimate with the fucking curb?”  
_ _

__

__“Relax,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “Where’s she meeting us?”  
_ _

__

__“At a Starbucks in the corner of Ainsforth road.” Merlin gives him a side glance full of hesitation. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Harry.”  
_ _

__

__“You were the one who wanted me to protect Eggsy-”  
_ _

__

__“Because I know you are the only one who can,” Merlin interrupts with a frown, “but don’t hide the fact that all of this is bothering you. It’s bothering me too, you know.”  
_ _

__

__Harry stays silent. Exposing his weaknesses- his fear, doubts, worries- has only gotten that much more difficult over the years. In fact-  
_ _

__

__“I dare say,” Merlin continues, “that the last time I’ve seen you this bothered by a case, was during the Richmond Valentine one. Remember, the one-”  
_ _

__

__Belatedly, Harry realizes that he’s about to run a red light and jerks to a stop. The sudden halt doesn’t faze Merlin, who’s looking at him with a steady sort of gaze. “Yes, I do,” Harry says hastily. The case- the reason for his resignation, in fact- doesn’t bring back pleasant memories. It also probably warrants at least five years’ worth of therapy as Merlin and Percival often parrot, but that’s a whole other issue altogether. “Merlin, if you think I’m unable to handle this-”  
_ _

__

__“If I didn’t think you could handle it, I would never have asked you to protect the boy,” Merlin says sharply. “It’s just- I gravely misunderstood the magnitude of these threats, is all. It’s not what you signed up for. If at any point you feel the need to take a step away… I won’t stop you.”  
_ _

__

__Even the mere thought of it is enough to send a stone-cold weight into the pit of Harry’s stomach. He may be a retired, old agent, his joints aching in the morning and the scar, tucked away into the side of his scalp throbbing at the most inopportune times but the faith in himself to best even the strongest of the lot over at MI6 is still rock solid. His aim still rings true, his sniper skills unmatched by anyone- according to the expert knowledge of 007, anyway- and his mind, unaffected by the scar to be as sharp as a tack. He doesn’t trust anyone but himself to protect Eggsy such that he never has to fear for his life again- he’s the best bet Eggsy has, at any rate. If he doesn’t protect Eggsy, who will? Any moment Eggsy is in the slightest hint of danger- be it from a papercut, or X’s malicious intentions- is enough to send his adrenaline into hyperdrive.  
_ _

__

__There’s a differing set of implications to that too, which he doesn’t want to visit anytime soon, either.  
_ _

__

__“You won’t have to,” he says, as the light turns green and he wheedles the car into motion again, “seeing as I plan to see this to the end.” He pauses a bit, before adding, “Don’t worry about me, Merlin.”  
_ _

__

__By way of response, all Merlin does is grunt. Harry knows what he’s thinking- you don’t remain friends with someone for well over two decades and not be attuned to every single one of their thought patterns and emotions. Even more so when that same someone had rushed to your bedside after he’d found out that you’d been shot in the head by a megalomaniac in a snapback.  
_ _

__

__“What I don’t realise,” Merlin says, after a while, when they finally enter the street at the end of which Samantha will be waiting, “is how you figured out that Eggsy had been lying to you.”  
_ _

__

__“By omission,” Harry is quick to add. The quaint coffeeshop is nearly empty, when they pull up to it, save for a few students and the odd middle aged man in dire need of an existential restructuring. He’s never actually been here before and momentarily wonders how Merlin ever discovered this place.  
_ _

__

__“It’s still lying,” Merlin says, looking at him expectantly. A full five seconds later, during which Harry chooses to keep shut under the guise of looking for a place to park, he clears his throat in lieu of a prompt.  
_ _

__

__“He has a tic,” Harry explains. “When he lies, his nose scrunches up. I’ve noticed it a couple of times. He hid something about the drug ring, I’m sure of it.”  
_ _

__

__“He has a tic?” Merlin says, looking doubtful. “We’ve been working together for a year, but I never noticed.”  
_ _

__

__Harry’s not about to up and admit that he spends an inordinate amount of time staring at Eggsy’s face, because despite what both James and Percival claim, he hasn’t completely taken leave of all of his dignity yet. Instead, he grunts non-committally, hoping that Merlin will leave the issue well alone.  
_ _

__

__Of course, Merlin is a contrary bastard so he doesn’t, in fact, leave the issue well alone.  
_ _

__

__“You’ve worked with him for all of a single week,” Merlin says, a thread of disbelief and something irritatingly knowing in his voice, “give or take a few days. How on earth did you notice that?”  
_ _

__

__“And besides,” Harry adds loudly, “something didn’t add up. He told me about the fire and said he didn’t know anything about it but his stepfather had been in the gang too. He got away scot free- but by all rights he should have been caught in the explosion as well.” He sends Merlin another glance. “I do hope this- Samantha person- will be able to shed some light on the whole mess, and not confuse us even further. Or, god forbid, tell Eggsy- we’ll lose what little trust we earned from him.”  
_ _

__

__“Don’t worry your pomade filled head about it,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes and ignoring Harry’s yelp of indignation. “She’s not in contact with Eggsy anymore. In fact, she was very eager to tell me about how proud of Eggsy she was.” His eyes darken a little. “Seems like Dean Baker got him landed in the holding cell a lot for solicitation.”  
_ _

__

__The mere thought of Eggsy having to sell his body for money or to avoid the heavy handed fist of that poor excuse of a human being is enough to send the blood in Harry’s ears rushing, his heart thumping heavily with an insidious sort of rage seeping beneath his bones and skin. It was all in the past, that is true- but oh, what Harry wouldn’t give for a mere second of a chance to sink his fist into the gut of such scum of the earth. He clenches his fingers on the steering wheel and releases them from their fixed hold slowly, looking up only to see Merlin staring at him with an inscrutable look on his face.  
_ _

__

__“What?” he snaps peevishly.  
_ _

__

__“Nothing,” Merlin says automatically. “Pull up here, will you?”  
_ _

__

__*  
_ _

__

__Detective Cromwell is tall and dark skinned, hair shorn off at her shoulders and clad in a modest blue flannel shirt and jeans. The shoes, on the other hand, are anything but modest- Doc Martens that cover her feet from her ankle til her toes, they look like they belong more on the cover of some prissy fashion magazine everyone’s going to faun over but not actually invest any money in. Her stride as she enters the door of the coffeeshop- named Killian’s Beans and discovered by Eggsy on a bleary, sleep deprived coffee run, Merlin had confessed- is swift and precise, drawing each patron’s attention for only a second and not any longer.  
_ _

__

__In short, Harry thinks, looking exactly like someone who works in Scotland Yard.  
_ _

__

__Once she stops at their table, Merlin stands up immediately and moves to draw her seat aside for her, waving away protests of “No, no, you don’t have to get up-” before sitting back down with a light blush staining his neck a blotchy red. Detective Cromwell doesn’t fare much better, her ears a dark red as she smiles sheepishly at him, and Harry feels- strangely enough- slightly irrelevant. It’s an altogether unpleasant feeling.  
_ _

__

__“I didn’t know this shop existed, actually,” Detective Cromwell says, looking abashed. “Without the address you gave me, I would have been completely lost.”  
_ _

__

__“I’m glad you made it,” Harry says, while Merlin mumbles something that sounds close to an affirmative. “Would you like a plate of scones, perhaps, Ms Cromwell?”  
_ _

__

__“Oh, Ginger is fine,” she says, and casts a glance at the counter, where two baristas stand lying in wait, expressions full of boredom. “A black coffee would be lovely, actually. Maybe I should-”  
_ _

__

__“I’ll get it,” Merlin says, leaping up like the least subtle animal on the planet and almost tipping his chair to the side. After setting it to rights, he scurries off, leaving Ginger looking somewhat charmed by the whole commotion.  
_ _

__

__Harry clears his throat, feeling the burn of second-hand embarrassment. Merlin, sadly enough, had a history of being most ungainly and awkward when it came to his to-be paramours. It’s usually rather a topic of hilarity between them but now, all it serves to be is an irritant. If Harry’s going to pry all the information he needs out of this lady, he needs to do it with his best friend by his side. “I gather Merlin told you about why we asked to meet you?”  
_ _

__

__“Yes,” Ginger says, frowning. “You think the threats are connected to Brandon Demba and those other twenty four gang members’ death, don’t you?”  
_ _

__

__Straight to the point, Harry liked that in someone. “Yes,” he says, leaning forward. “Eggsy’s received a number of threats recently, that all refer to the boy in question.”  
_ _

__

__“And Eggsy would hardly tell you about it,” Ginger says, “because I know what he went through, when all that happened.” Her lips twitch into a small, rueful smile. “It hadn’t exactly been an easy time for him- god knows I didn’t make it easier, either.” She accepts the coffee from Merlin with a demure thanks.  
_ _

__

__“Will you tell us everything that happened?” Harry asks, and then waits. The air around them grows still as Ginger gazes back with steady eyes betraying nothing, even Merlin leaning forward eagerly with none of his earlier dimwitted fondness present. The wait is probably about a second, but to Harry it feels like an eternity.  
_ _

__

__“No, I can’t,” Ginger says finally. Harry’s heart drops instantly and Merlin leans back too, looking betrayed to all hell.  
_ _

__

__“Then why the fuck-”  
_ _

__

__“I can’t tell you,” Ginger says, speaking over Merlin, “because I signed several NDAs about it.” She glares at them both, picking up her bag and placing it on the table between them. It’s sleek, black and nondescript, giving Harry an inkling as to why she had met up with both of them. “Honestly- why do you think I got promoted to Scotland Yard for nothing other than filing an arson report? Neither Eggsy nor I can tell you what really went down in that warehouse, and what led to it. You’ll have to find that out on your own, I’m afraid.” Harry opens his mouth, furious- the implications in the face of Ginger’s sheer arrogance, her unwillingness to risk everything for Eggsy’s safety, astound him. Who cares about what NDAs they had to sign? If bureaucratic red tape was all that was letting X get the upper hand on him all the fucking time, then to hell with it- Harry will scour and drain every contact necessary to crush it to dust. He only stops when Merlin lays a hand on his shoulder, firm in warning.  
_ _

__

__“I can, however, give you this,” Ginger continues, zipping the laptop bag open to take out a sleek, black folder. “This should be enough for you to connect all the dots.” As she slides the folder over, her fingers tremble minutely before stilling once again and when Harry flicks his gaze back up again, her face is blank, wiped of any emotion- a little too impassive for it to be genuine. Whatever Eggsy had went through, Ginger had to have been present for most of it too.  
_ _

__

__Harry opens the folder, and flicks through the papers. The first few ones are mundane, paperwork for the lease of some warehouse- upon closer scrutiny, Harry realizes with a jolt that it’s not just any warehouse.  
_ _

__

__“The warehouse that burnt down, with all the gang members,” Harry says shakily. “It’s lease belongs to-”  
_ _

__

__“Adams Pharmaceuticals,” Merlin breathes, looking over Harry’s shoulder. His voice is full of shock- he would be, Harry thinks distantly. He’s shocked himself. Other than mysteriously vanishing, Poppy Adams’ record had been clean. Her worst crime had been becoming the CEO of a company that exploited the labour of the poor all around the world but that had been it. Nothing suggested the involvement of drugs at any level except legal.  
_ _

__

__“Flip to the end,” Ginger says gently. Stunned, Harry’s fingers work on autopilot as they turn to the last page- a death report. Not just any death report, however- Poppy Adams’ death report. In neat, black lettering, they spell out what Harry had started to suspect once he’d seen the paperwork for the lease of the warehouse; that Poppy hadn’t gone mysteriously missing while out on a holiday sampling the more exotic parts of Cambodia, but had instead burnt to death in the embers of that warehouse.  
_ _

__

__“It didn’t show up in the initial report,” Merlin says accusingly. “Unless-”  
_ _

__

__“It was a cover up,” Ginger says, a note of hesitance in her voice. Her fingers cradle the cup as she nods her head towards the report. “I’m sure you can figure out why, smart gentlemen that you are.”  
_ _

__

__Merlin is so engrossed in his own sussing out of the case that he doesn’t even register the compliment. “She was in charge of the drug ring, wasn’t she?” he says, eyes sharp. “Ginger- that doesn’t warrant a cover up, at any rate.”  
_ _

__

__“Who covered it up?” Harry asks. At his words, both of them startle. “The cover up. Who did it? It can’t have been MI6- I would have heard about it.”  
_ _

__

__At that, Ginger’s lips twist into a smile that looks more like a grimace, ducking her face down to take a sip of her coffee. She sets it down, her fingers trembling again, before saying, “Well, that’s what I signed the NDA for, didn’t I? You don’t need to know about that part of this whole story, I don’t think. Your concern is who X is- I’d suggest that answer lies in Poppy Adams and her little band of gang members.”  
_ _

__

__Parts of the whole sordid tale hidden to him, even now. Harry considers wielding his clout as a weapon and forcing Ginger to tell him the truth, but a part of him suspects that Ginger won’t fall for it. Lying by omission, though, is still a lie- and he’d come to this coffeeshop in pursuit of the truth.  
_ _

__

__He tells Ginger just as much, to which Ginger snorts and opens her mouth- probably to say something that would serve to only infuriate him further- when Merlin interrupts, “It was the CIA, wasn’t it?”  
_ _

__

__“Of course it isn’t,” Harry scoffs, and then stops when Ginger looks back at Merlin with her mouth open, like she didn’t know whether to be elated or terrified.  
_ _

__

__“It’s not a domestic espionage service,” Merlin rushes to say, leaning forward with his eyes glinting, “because then there’s no need for a cover up- them busting a dirty CEO would be the story of the goddamn year. Kremlin doesn’t give a shit about a drug peddling CEO, and frankly no one would except for the States. It would hardly be the US government, though- so it’s a toss up between FBI and the CIA except the FBI rarely goes international. The CIA has no such qualms; just look at Bay of Pigs.” Merlin points a finger at Ginger. “The one thing I can’t figure out is why. You’d have to be massive, to attract the CIA’s attention from across the sea and helping to distribute drugs is bad, yes, but there are others who have done worse. A lot worse, in fact- helping out a meagre drug ring hardly matters.”  
_ _

__

__Ginger looks like she’s in a cross between running away and staying just to make out with Merlin- Harry feels a little like kissing Merlin himself, so he begrudgingly gives her that. He’d always said that Merlin’s intellect had gone to waste as a music producer- this had been explicit proof as to why. “Which is why,” Ginger says, finishing off her coffee, “you need to look at the folder, because I went to the liberty of hacking a few files and printing them out for you. You’re very much right, Hamish- Poppy was no ordinary CEO. She was far worse- she was a monster, the worst of its kind, and if Eggsy’s conscience hadn’t been so damn insistent the whole of the world would be in ruins right now.”  
_ _

__

__Harry whistles through his teeth- hacking the CIA? Ballsy.  
_ _

__

__With a hint of smugness in her tone, Ginger says, “I used to be a hacker.” Her eyes flit to Merlin when she says so, as though she’s got an inkling that Merlin’s not that much different from herself. Merlin coughs and looks down, cheeks pinking.  
_ _

__

__“I didn’t get promoted to Scotland Yard because of my own prowess in the field,” Ginger continues, tapping her fingers against the coffee cup. Her left eye twitches briefly before she says, “I got promoted because they needed me to shut up. Look through the files, and you’ll see why.” She gives Harry a glare of pure steel. “It needs hardly be said, that if any of this gets out-”  
_ _

__

__“Yes, yes, we’ll handle this with care,” Harry says, frowning back at her. “You accepted the bribe for a promotion?”  
_ _

__

__“It was that, Mr Hart,” Ginger says, “or letting Eggsy take the fall.” She hesitates slightly, before saying, “Eggsy was refusing to let what a woman like Poppy tried to do go under. You know the reputation of her in the press- kept her nose clean, rarely any cockups, knows as a bit of a sociopath by her college professors but otherwise, a rich successful businesswoman who vanished off the coast of Cambodia. Eggsy wanted everyone to know who she really was- the problem was that he was the only one.”  
_ _

__

__Harry goes quiet, fingering the edge of the file. He had never caught wind nor tail of a crooked CEO when he was still within the ranks of the MI6 but then again, he hadn’t been in the highest position of authority there either. M had never been forthcoming with her intel, keeping her cards close to her chest like a treasured trove of secrets. It had been one of the contributing factors for Harry’s eventual resignation, certainly- the secrecy gnaws at you after a while, like a carefully ageing parasite. Eggsy’s secrecy should have done the same, certainly- but instead it had made him more protective, constantly on high alert of any boundaries he may be crossing inadvertently. In fact, Eggsy’s secrecy hadn’t been a choice- he had wanted everyone to know the truth but the circumstances and the world of espionage had been against him. That wasn’t his fault, and that is definitely not something Harry can hold against him.  
__

____

_And besides,_ a snide little voice says, _you’re not exactly here for noble reasons, are you?  
_

“Well, I best be taking my leave,” Ginger says, finishing off her coffee. “Give Eggsy my love, will you?” She stands up, before hesitating slightly and saying, “And when all this blows over, if it’s possible-”  


___ _

___“Aye, I’ll give him your number,” Merlin promises. “I’ll walk you to your car.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___As they walk to the car, Merlin’s hand unnecessarily low on Ginger’s back and Ginger not shirking away either, Harry leans back in his chair and sighs, staring at the folder on the table in front of him. All this effort just to find out who X is and close any gaps possible in Eggsy’s shield of protection-  
_ _ _

___ _

___No. He’s just being a very thorough, very precise bodyguard for his client. That’s all he is to Eggsy, and that is all Eggsy will ever be for him.  
_ _ _

___ _

___*  
_ _ _

___ _

___Harry often prefers his life to be ordered chaos. Haywire, but routine. The same steps throughout the day, illogically placed but there. In the bustle of missions and missions and more missions within the murky depths of MI6, one knew to seek out their creature comforts, small habits and activities, and place it within their timetable of the day. Q liked his coffee with two sugars, half a packet of creamer. 007 visited a cat café at least once every week, be it for five minutes even, somehow carving out time from within the mission to bury his hand in a ball of fur. Harry had many- his butterflies, his set of rom-com flicks, the wine cabinet. For him, they are enough- he doesn’t need any further than that.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Then he gets shot by Richmond Valentine in front of a church in the sweltering heat of Kentucky.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Operation Red Hearts- the MI6 has never been particularly known for its creativity- is a mess from the start. An embarrassment, staining the reputation of such a resplendent, efficient organization; and it’s not even Harry’s fault. There had been an insider feeding information, 007 had told him later in confidence, causing Valentine to be in on every single one of their moves. They’d caught wind of Valentine on the brink of executing a plot of genocidal cleansing of the world, so far-fetched and theatrical that it couldn’t be true.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Yet it had been. M had sent Harry to Kentucky, flouting international rules to gamble on the credibility of her intel. It had been a bad gamble- Harry had ended up killing every single member of that hate church in Kentucky, only to leave and get shot in the face.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Over the course of his service to the organization, he’s faced many things, obviously. Being prepared is often touted by the Americans as a boy scout ideal and yet it is paramount, for a spy- always be prepared for the worst, for the unusual, for the eccentric. He’d been prepared for every eventuality except for the theft of his own mind. It’s an unpleasant notion, to not be able to trust yourself anymore. It’s what causes him to turn in his own resignation to M, fully aware that she’d been about to sack him for the failure of the mission, anyway- not his fault, but the subordinate takes the fall.  
_ _ _

___ _

___He takes over his father’s security providing services instead. Frail and weak, Thomas Hart dies in his own bed two days after the official transference of authority over to Harry and feeling like the kind of rubbish people cycle over in the street without a second thought, Harry attends his funeral. It even rains, then- the horrible crescendo to the utter mess his life has become. It gets easier, but not better- he becomes used to the rusty stench of blood in his nostrils, sleeping with a gun under his pillow, the night terrors of a church full of white supremacists waiting quietly, the ringing silence a warning and a horrific remembrance. Order vanishes from his life- he devotes his time to protecting his clients and directing his subordinates. He agrees to meet up with Merlin, James and Percy twice a week and actually makes it for only once a month. On the way from his apartment to the HQ of Hart Securities, he takes the long route to avoid the church. Once, he gets a call from the local chapel that their Father is in need of protection from extremists- he gives the entire mission to Ector and ignores his alarmed gaze. He lives his life half-arsed, waiting to die from one second to the next and being a weird mix of self-loathing and relief when he doesn’t.  
_ _ _

___ _

___The Eggsy Unwin job was supposed to last a week- a favour to Merlin, the old sod. He had called Harry in a panic, starting off his plea by saying he had no idea who else to call. Who was Harry to deny his closest friend such a heartfelt request? He had gathered all the details from Merlin on the way to his residence, grown even more displeased at what he’d heard- another stuck up, arrogant little twat, no doubt- and had promptly had all his expectations shot down in a few seconds flat. Eggsy himself is exceedingly extraordinary, cripplingly low self esteem but an overflowing amount of compassion stored in his heart for everyone around him. He felt too much all the time; that had been evident in his words and songs and outbursts. To Harry, a man who compartmentalized his feelings until all that had been left had been a sort of practiced emptiness in the pits of his soul, that had been captivating.  
_ _ _

___ _

___At least, that’s what he’d thought until the whole conundrum started to take the form of something strange and insidious Harry detested entirely. X was somehow ahead of them, at every single step, managing to find Eggsy at Taco Bell, managing to find him at the park, managing to find him at the restaurant. Harry prides himself on being one of the very best in his field. He’s gone to hell and back for his country, after all- tangling with the Kremlin, evading terrorists neck deep in Congo. And yet in the one case that truly matters- the one with Eggsy Unwin in the thick of it, a boy he’s very much grown to care very deeply for- he finds that he’s utterly, utterly at a loss.  
_ _ _

___ _

___*  
_ _ _

___ _

___26 February 2014, 4:00 pm  
_ _ _

___ _

___It is still early when their tete-a-tete with Ginger ends, so Harry orders both himself and Merlin a lunch which he eats only half of, constantly looking at and then away from the bloody folder. After they’re both done, Merlin drops the altogether not totally unexpected bomb of not being able to accompany Harry any further on his investigation.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Listen, I won’t be able to investigate X alongside you,” Merlin had explained, strapping the seatbelt in as they’d started along the route back to the building, “I do have my own duties to attend to. Eggsy’s album isn’t going to produce itself.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I thought Eggsy would prefer to be with you when you do it,” Harry comments, as he narrowly avoids crashing into a sedan and ignores the shout of, “Oy, what’s the big deal?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“He does,” Merlin says, shrugging, “but he also trusts me, and trusts that I won’t fuck up his album. His second one, you know- it’s got to match up to the first. He refuses to tell me, but I know he’s pretty nervous about it.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“He doesn’t need to be nervous, he’ll do well,” Harry says absently. One of the few times Harry had stepped in to observe Eggsy work- Ector or Kay had been on guard for those occasions- he had been utterly captivated by the boy. His voice, enriching in its mellow, melodious tenor had filled the studio with a proper ambience- Harry is entirely ashamed to say that he had been caught so off guard that he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings at all and had thus proceeded to jump a foot in the air when that bloody techie, Andy or Anderson, had tapped him on the shoulder. It had been worth it, though, to hear Eggsy giggle into the mic.  
_ _ _

___ _

___A fearsome agent, brought down by a sweet voice. 007 would have laughed himself into a fit.  
_ _ _

Merlin sends him a withering glare. “He can’t just do well,” he snaps, irritable. “He has to do _phenomenal_. Did you even listen to his debut album?”  


“No,” Harry says flatly, ignoring Merlin’s splutter. “I’ve been a little busy.”  


___ _

___At that, Merlin subsides, his mood suddenly somber as he turns his gaze purposefully from the side of Harry’s face to the window. “I suppose you have,” he murmurs. The abrupt one eighty in his mood makes Harry feel slightly abashed. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, swerving into the road that would lead them straight into the records building.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“What else did you mean it as?” Merlin asks, his voice devoid of any inflection or judgement. In fact, he sounds quite curious instead. “Harry, we’ve never discussed-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“There’s nothing to discuss,” Harry says automatically, abruptly, the words tensed and curt falling out of his mouth before he can stop them. A second long of tense silence follows in their wake, making Harry wince and curse under his breath.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Protecting Eggsy has been good for you,” Merlin says after a while. “I know you like to pretend that all of us are ignorant, but we all saw how you became after the Valentine fiasco.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“So, what, you recommended the job because you felt sorry for my dysfunctional arse?” Harry demands.  
_ _ _

___ _

___In response, Merlin rolls his eyes, the force of it reverberating throughout the entire car. Exasperation wafts off him in waves as he says, “Of course not you demented berk, I wanted you for the job because I knew no one else would be able to protect him any better.” He drums the fingers of his left hand on his knee before saying, “It’s just- you haven’t been alright, since Valentine and your dad.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“You weren’t even supposed to know about Valentine,” Harry says, grousing as he wheedles the car along. There’s a jam on the road, even at this time of the day and Harry very uncharitably thinks that it is probably due to some old sod in dire need of driving lessons having knocked his vehicle into a fire hydrant. “And I beg your pardon- I think I’ve been perfectly alright.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___The look Merlin gives him is pitying, humiliating in its condescension. “No, you weren’t,” Merlin says, the finality in his tone grating, “and I had to stand and watch you refuse to seek help, go about your daily business and ignore what happened to you after Valentine shot at your head.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I wasn’t ignoring-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I had to find out you were having night terrors from bloody Ector,” Merlin snaps, a bite more ire in his voice since they had started this altogether annoyance of a conversation. “Ector, your fucking subordinate.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___The traffic jam eases up, allowing Harry to speed up slightly. He keeps his gaze on the road, his eyes firmly locked on granite and his knuckles white on the wheel. If he thinks about the route he has to take that would lead him back to the building, he doesn’t have to think about the truth in Merlin’s words.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m just saying,” Merlin says quietly, as the building comes into sight. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this- light. You barely have the shadow of Valentine hanging over you.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. What can he say- that focusing on someone else’s worries and problems makes him forget about his own? Or that when he’s in Eggsy’s company, the boy’s grounded empathy and sheer humility makes him feel like he’s a kid again, with no other concerns for anything except his companion? That Eggsy, somehow, with his words and personality and actions and the mere magnanimous ability of being himself makes Harry remember what it’s like to truly, truly have a purpose for living again? Each strand of thought makes what he feels about Eggsy more and more incriminating and if he ever verbalized them into the air out loud, he knows they’ll all form a truth too earth shattering for himself to bear.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Harry stops outside the building, and Merlin slides out gracefully, slamming the door shut. Before he can speed off though, Merlin walks round to his side of the car and knocks on the window- two neat raps of his knuckles.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Harry rolls down the window. “What?” he snaps.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Merlin doesn’t even flinch. “You are too stupid and oblivious to see it,” he says, ignoring Harry’s squawk, “but you’ve been good for Eggsy too. He’s been a lot more open- less reticent to us. Maybe you ought to think about that- what you could be for each other.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“What we could be?” Harry demands, stunned. “Merlin-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Merlin straightens up, and makes a shooing gesture with his hand. “Chop chop,” he says. “I have a schedule to stick to- and you need to make sure you’re done in time to take Eggsy to the gala.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___*  
_ _ _

___ _

___26 February 5:00 pm  
_ _ _

___ _

___It’s on the way back to Eggsy’s apartment complex that he receives the news. Harry’s pleased at first with being able to make it back early enough to be able to tidy up a bit before bringing Eggsy to the gala- not that he needs to dress up, it just would be nice to not look like a complete tool in front of Eggsy. When he’s about five minutes away from entering the road that takes him into his own apartment complex, his phone rings. With a jolt, Harry realizes it’s Uther- the codename held by Anthony, one of the older agents closer to Harry’s age than Ector or Kay, having joined the service at the same time Harry had joined MI6.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Uther,” he says, after pressing speaker. “Speak.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Michelle Unwin’s been shot at.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Instantly there’s a shot of cold sliding down his back. “What the hell happened? You were supposed to be protecting her!”  
___

_____ _

“It didn’t _hit_ her, for the love of god,” Uther gripes. “I’d think you’d have more faith in me than that.” There were about five gunmen- we were at one of the quieter roads and they shot at her outside the shop. We shot two of them, but the rest got away. She’s in one of the safehouses now- we had no choice, we think Unwin’s flat has been compromised.”  


“What about Eggsy?” Harry asks sharply, his heart thundering a mile a minute. “If-”  


“Eggsy should be alright, he’s at the hospital paying a visit to Ector.”  


“At the _hospital?_ ” Harry demands, even more shocked at this turn of events. The private hospital has always been out of bounds for civilians save relatives of injured agents- the potential of a breach in security has always been too great. Thomas Hart had been a paranoid bastard right up to his death. He rifles through his memories, confused if he’d accidentally let slip to Kay that he was okay with Eggsy visiting Ector.  


“I was surprised too, but Kay thought the visit would do him some good. Listen, I couldn’t reach you just now, so I just told Gawain and Galahad to stay at the apartment complex to make sure it’s safe for Eggsy to come by later, I couldn’t take any chances-”  


___ _

___“Well done, Uther,” Harry says, gripping the wheel tightly. His blood thunders along in his veins, a noisy rush that drowns out any noise from his surroundings. “Where are you right now?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“The safe house we used for the Duke of Essex case, I’m sending the address to you now.” Uther’s voice is strained, but calm- a hazard of the job, but it’s hardly out of the ordinary to get shot at. For some reason though, this feels different; more starkly serious, somehow. With a ping, the message pops up on the phone screen.  
_ _ _

___ _

___With a screeching of tires and a yanking of the wheel, Harry swerves the car around in the middle of the road and starts driving well above the speed limit, heading for the safe house. “Talk to me, Uther- what the hell happened?”  
___

_____ _

“I’d rather not while you’re on the road-”  


_“Uther.”_ He cuts across a Bentley, ignoring the driver who flips the V’s at him.  


“Michelle was returning to the apartment. Both of us were with her, and Gawain saw him first- a black hooded figure with his gun pointed straight at Michelle. Gawain pulled her to the side, and I took the bullet before giving chase- but it’s a tad bit hard to give chase when the person you’re bloody chasing is on the other side of the road.” Uther sounds frustrated, and there’s an audible huff- this isn’t his first rodeo, but then again both Uther and Gawain have gotten to know Michelle very well in the days they have been protecting her.  


___ _

___“What did he look like?” Harry takes a look at the GPS- he’s only ten minutes away.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Slight build, he had a black hood on- Harry, there’s something else I have to show you.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Fortunate that I’m here, then,” Harry says. The safe house is safely nestled in the country part of London, surrounded by wild green forestry and the occasional wild animal. Smack dab at the side of the road, it’s not in the least bit discreet which defeats the point of the warehouse but then again, Harry’s agents have been more used to rich clients with safe houses of their own. Most things about the Eggsy Unwin case is a first. Harry screeches to a stop and cuts the call, not even bothering to close the door properly before bounding up the steps and buzzing the intercom.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“There’s a Calico in the backyard,” he says into the speaker, before it opens instantly, revealing Uther whose hisses sharply, “Get in! Where’s your car?”  
___

_____ _

“On the road,” Harry says smoothly, stepping in, and at Uther’s squawk rolls his eyes and continues tersely, “No one followed me, I checked, Uther. Now report- what the hell is going on?”  


The interior of the safe house is sparse and flat, walls painted a drab brown and the mantle piece boasting a Siamese cat and a pretty little clock reminiscent of antique shops. It’s not that large too- four rooms and the drawing room, in which Michelle currently sits on a couch. Eggsy’s quiet strength is evident in her stature, upright and alert with sharp eyes tracking Uther’s every move.  


___ _

___“Keep it down, you lot,” Michelle says quietly. “I have a headache.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Uther casts her an apologetic glance, and pitches his voice low as he says, “We were returning from Mrs Unwin’s friend’s house- a Mary Patel, I believe- and were on the street across from the Churchill estate when Gawain and I noticed the man crouching behind the car on the opposite side of the road. He fired off two shots before taking off and I gave chase, but-” Uther presses his lips together, obviously frustrated.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“He lost you,” Harry says disbelievingly. Here is his agent, bested by some idiot in a burglar outfit. “How the hell did he do that?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Uther inclines his head a little, looking slightly ashamed but nevertheless standing his ground. “He headed immediately for a crowded area- to be honest, Arthur, I did catch up to him.” His jaw clenches, like he’s being polite out of sheer force of restraint. “He tucked a piece of paper into my jean pocket and fled instantly. I couldn’t even catch up to him after that.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Maybe you’re getting by in your years, then,” Harry says flatly, unimpressed, as Uther flinches. “You let him go after that?”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“I just-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“He’s not telling you something,” Michelle cuts in. Her voice is cold as stone, sharp enough to cut glass. “Tell him about the note.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___Uther shifts again. The guilt is clear enough on his face, and he clears his throat as if stalling for time. “Mrs Unwin-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Show me the note, then,” Harry announces, holding out his hand resignedly. These bloody threats will be the end of him- they were almost the end of Uther, judging by his expression of jarring alarm.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Harry, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Uther says slowly. His eyes are wary, like he’s expecting Harry to freak out and do something stupid. “It’s really- I know you hold Eggsy in very high regard, and-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“The note, Uther, for the love of god,” Harry says sharply. “Stop dithering about.” From the couch, Michelle Unwin’s eyes pierce the side of his face, two accusing points of spears digging into his flesh. It unsettles him, that his behavior with his own damn client has been so unprofessional that even his own agents have started to accept it as anything but.  
_ _ _

Uther digs a hand into the inside of his jacket pocket and fishes out the note. Harry snatches it from his hand, smooths out the paper, and reads out loud, _“You took my family from me, so now I’ll be taking yours. Already started with Brandon. Love, X.”  
_

“Another thing, Arthur,” Uther says, voice soft as Harry stares at the note, his mind blank. “The sniper- he was wearing a ring with the image of an eagle on it.” Harry says nothing, still staring at the note. The words almost don’t make sense to him, a string of incomprehensible words that appear in a haphazard manner in the tiny crumpled piece of paper clutched between his fingers. Almost, because terrifyingly, an inkling of understanding is beginning to seep into his brain. The image of the folder comes back to him with burning clarity and now, more than ever, he doesn’t want to read what is in it.  


___ _

___Eggsy’s crushing humility floats back to him, the memories of him swallowing roughly before talking about Brandon. He’d thought Eggsy’s reticence had been due to legal boundaries, rather than a tortured conscience. Then again- this is a threat coming from a clearly insane stalker. A stalker who’s tried to kill Harry’s charge, mentally unseated him several times, and has tried to erode the layers of his mental state one by one. Nothing about this is set in stone, and if Harry fails to realise it-  
_ _ _

___ _

___He crushes the paper in his fist, and looks up only to meet Michelle’s gaze, razor-edged and narrow. Uther tenses, unnaturally perceptive about the sudden tension in the room. “I have to take a call- it’s Gawain,” Uther, the traitor says, stumbling slightly over his words as he walks into the kitchen, the phone not even vibrating in his hand.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Who are you going to believe, Mr Hart?” Michelle asks, voice deceptively mild, as the kitchen door closes. “A maniac shooting at innocent bystanders, or my son?”  
_ _ _

___ _

“Your son,” Harry parries back, feeling as though this entire experience has probably given him more gray hairs than he can possibly afford, “has refused to tell me much about Brandon. Tell me who I should believe.”  


The last line is meant to be fierce, definite, determined- it comes out as a plea. The incriminating note sits in his closed fist, a testament to the haywire spin his thoughts are in right now. Michelle’s jaw tenses, as though she’s barely holding herself back from shouting.  


“I spent thirteen years of my motherhood in a drugged haze, Mr Hart,” Michelle says sharply. “I refused to acknowledge it but my own son, my baby boy- he lowered himself to the worst of lows just to keep me fed and happy. He didn’t tell me but I know how he sold his body and his life away just to put food in Daisy’s belly. I know my son, _Arthur_ ,” the name spit out like a curse, making Harry flinch, “and I know he’ll never hurt a living soul.”  


___ _

___The air is thick with fraught tension between them. Harry thinks of Eggsy- the boy in understated, muted clothes, trying desperately to match up to his own perceived standards of a company he feels he doesn’t deserve to be in, full of self doubt and insecurities but with enough heart left to spare for everyone surrounding him. If it were anyone else, Harry would already be having an in depth interrogation with them, leaving no stone unturned and ruthlessly weeding out every single bit of personal information from them. Somehow, with Eggsy, the thought of his green eyes and downturned lips is making him take five steps back, withholding himself from doing his job perfectly in favour of seeing Eggsy comfortable and pleased at all times.  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Innocent until proven guilty,” Harry finally murmurs, stowing the paper away in the inside of his suit. “Get some rest, Mrs Unwin.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___*  
_ _ _

___ _

___26 February 2014, 7:00 pm  
_ _ _

___ _

___After a bit of a tiff, Michelle convinces Harry to only tell Eggsy about what had happened after the gala. “I’m not even hurt, and I’d rather he found out about it after the gala. It’s going to mess with his head, and that’s the last thing anyone would want,” she’d added, with a slight raise of her eyebrows. By the end of it, Uther had looked a bit in love with her. Who wouldn’t have? Clearly, Harry had severely misunderstood the strength of her character.  
_ _ _

___ _

___He did that a lot, these days.  
_ _ _

___ _

___His phone, embarrassingly, had died halfway on the way back to the apartment so he has no idea if Eggsy’s even still waiting for him. Praying that he was still there, Harry parks the car inside the apartment complex before bounding out, heading for the lift and trying his best to look calm and composed. It wouldn’t do to look like a half drowned rat drenched in his own sweat.  
_ _ _

___ _

___He presses the doorbell, and there’s a split second before Kay answers it, a strained but relieved smile on her face as she steps aside to let him enter. He strides in, gait swift and steady as he opens his mouth ready to profusely apologise when he catches sight of Eggsy standing by the table and stops in his tracks.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy looks- iridescent. There’s no other word for it- clad in a tuxedo of the loveliest dark green with suitable black lapels his eyes glimmer even more, looking like all Harry wants in that moment. It is as though time stops for a tad bit, and all Harry can feel is a peculiar warmth for Eggsy spilling over from his heart into his veins, parasitic and dangerous and utterly lovely.  
_ _ _

___ _

___He knows nothing about Eggsy, he thinks, watching as Eggsy’s face breaks into the most exquisite smile. But he can’t deny the truth any longer- the truth that every single one of his agents, Merlin and even Eggsy’s own mother have already come to terms with- and that is that he has utterly fallen for the man standing in front of him.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Harry’s mouth starts moving before his brain catches up. “You look-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“Dumb as all hell, I know,” Eggsy says with a self deprecating laugh, and it cuts at Harry’s insides like he hadn’t spent just an hour ago in turmoil over Eggsy’s deeply murky past. “It’s Giorgio Armani fashion, you know how the man is-”  
_ _ _

___ _

___“No, it-” Harry swallows roughly, trying to stop the words from tumbling out but another look at how the trouser fabric clings to Eggsy’s legs, sculpted and strong, makes his mouth work on autopilot again, “Your eyes are absolutely lovely. And they look even lovelier now.” Unbidden, the image of them sitting in taco bell talking about My Fair Lady pops into his head and he says, smiling to himself, “You look- absolutely loverly.”  
_ _ _

___ _

___From the side, Kay’s lips twitch and Harry promptly feels like he should stick his head in a blender.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Eggsy, though, doesn’t laugh. Instead, his whole being positively lights up and he takes a few steps closer to Harry, smiling so gently Harry just knows the image will be etched onto his retinas for all of eternity. “Thank you, you clean up very, very nice too,” he says softly.  
_ _ _

___ _

___Harry feels his cheeks heat up but he smiles back, looking down at the utterly gorgeous planes of the boy’s face. If he needed a sign from the universe on how utterly fucked he was for Eggsy Unwin, Harry thinks, this would be it._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bloody damn near tore my hair and teeth out over this chapter so I hope its ok lmao. there was no update in december so i'll update the next chapter next week if uni doesn't kick me in the ass.

**Author's Note:**

> it's not very specific so I shall state it here:
> 
> Roxy: personal assistant slash all round personal jesus for eggsy  
> Merlin: music producer slash manager  
> Eggsy: singer and songwriter
> 
> i have the next two chapters written out so hopefully updates will be every week if life is ok  
> leave a comment or kudos below! all criticism shall be widely accepted with open arms:)
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [calisthenics-102](https://calisthenics-102.tumblr.com/)


End file.
